In the Madhouse
by Ciceronis
Summary: After the war, Azula finds herself locked away in a mental asylum. There she is forced to confront her past...while matching wits with a sadistic doctor.
1. Miscommunication

Chapter 1 -- Miscommunication

A few weeks after Sozin's comet, on a hot, fine Fire Nation afternoon, Firelord Zuko discussed his sister's fate with a cold man.

"And now," he finished, "I don't know what to do with her. The prisons aren't an option at the moment. We're trying to sort out who should be released, just when they're also trying to handle a huge influx of new inmates – mostly rebels and war criminals. I don't trust their security measures right now. Not with Azula. Especially since I can't be sure yet of everyone's loyalties.

"Besides, what would everyone think if I threw my crazy little sister into a deep, dark dungeon?"

He paused. The ice in their drinks had long ago melted, but the heat hadn't affected the man's cool composure or pale looks. Zuko tried not to be jealous: he was already irritated enough. It didn't help that he could hear the screams, very faintly, whenever the conversation lagged.

Zuko slammed his glass down so hard that the bottom cracked. "Agni save us! She won't be quiet. We tried to gag her, but she started choking on the gag. So she screams, night and day. And rants and screams and cries and wails and screams. On and on and on. I don't need this! You would not believe the difficulties I'm facing. Crises have been popping up like…like…"

" Wild flowers in a spring meadow, Your Highness?"

"Something like that. But flowers are pretty and soothing and smell nice. The _shit_ I've had to deal with is something else entirely." Zuko ran his fingers through his damp hair, tugged at his robes, also damp with sweat. And sticky. He imagined that the proverbial shit had hit the airbender and sprayed him with foul, glutinous excrement, and that more kept coming.

"How can she do this day after day, every hour of the day? I'm not the only one who notices. The entire household is on edge. My guards are on edge. And the noise disturbs the guests – which is bad, because most of them are important people who are already wound up about something. I mean, I'm the busiest, most harassed man in the world, and even I manage to sleep a few hours every now and then."

Indeed, Zuko looked so harassed that no one would have disagreed with him, even if there weren't dozens of guards lurking about and waiting to blast anyone who ticked him off.

"Sometimes we drug her so that our healers can treat her injuries – which are all self-inflicted, by the way. I'd keep her drugged, but I've been told that could kill her. My men have to force feed her. It's a dangerous job. Even skilled firebenders have a hard time with someone who breathes blue fire. Then she bites and claws and struggles. Those men could be better employed elsewhere.

"The Avatar is coming later today or tomorrow. I've told him that I have no choice. He'll have to take her firebending. It's for her own good."

Zuko stopped, groped for his drink, grimaced when he noticed that all of the liquid had leaked out of the crack at the bottom. He stared into the glass for a moment. In turn, his companion scrutinized him. Doctor Soong, founder and director of the "Readjustment Center for the Psychically Unbalanced," plied a trade in the souls, thoughts, and memories of others. Zuko looked like a man whose thoughts were miles -- or years? – away. What secret vision was the Firelord gazing at in his mind's eye?

Zuko snapped out of it suddenly and turned toward his guest. "She can't stay here, and I need to know that she's secured, controlled, and monitored. I just can't deal with this too. My girlfriend's mother recommended you. Do you know-"

"Ah, yes. I remember the case perfectly."

"What is it that you do, precisely?"

"As you know, our facility is called the 'Readjustment Center for the Psychically Unbalanced'. Some vulgar individuals call it 'The Madhouse'. Maybe that's an apt description, but we considered carefully before choosing our official title. Tell me, Your Highness, what is madness?"

Zuko opened his mouth to speak, then stopped.

"Exactly. We don't have a working definition, for many reasons. There is no one form to madness, each case is unique. And, since every human being is unique, how do we decide when someone is mad rather than eccentric? Or inspired? Or Terrified? I could go on.

"And is there anything truly wrong with the 'mad' individual, or is 'madness' merely a term which we apply to unacceptable behavior? Most believe that madness is a flaw or illness of the mind. But how do we locate this flaw? After all, what is the mind? How does it work? How is it related to the soul, if the soul actually exists? What causes this illness? Is the cause physical?

"You get the point. Every time and place and culture has had its own beliefs about this subject. And every time and place and culture has had its own coping mechanisms. But no one has had a solution. Not yet."

Zuko looked thoughtful. "But you have a solution?"

"No, of course not. The problem is too vast to be solved in one lifetime. But that doesn't mean we can't try. I have…an approach."

"This is fascinating. Please go on."

"We don't know what causes disease either, but we treat the symptoms anyway. There is one symptom which every madman has in common: he or she often displays behavior which most people find abnormal or unacceptable. Children start learning about good and bad behavior from the moment of birth. Most people never stop learning. Given the proper instruction, why shouldn't people with unbalanced behavior patterns learn to readjust them? Now you understand our name."

The ghost of a smile crossed Zuko's face. "You think you can teach Azula to behave herself? Good luck."

"Any behavior pattern can be erased, modified, or instilled. Given the proper stimuli."

"What sort of stimuli?"

Doctor Soong shrugged and smiled. "It varies. It's a complex process, one that I've developed after years of research. And every case has its own program, tailored especially for its special needs."

"How have you managed to find so many cases?"

"At first, I had to learn from books. I also found a group of…ah…Earth Kingdom associates with similar goals and interests. They were a great help to me.

"Then, inspiration came. As you know, many of our soldiers are never the same after their military service. I convinced some powerful men that we could help these afflicted heroes. The military funds my project, and I take in their stricken brethren. Soon others were brought to me. Usually families have to care for their own – which can become a terrible or even impossible burden, especially for the poor-"

"Not just for the poor!" Zuko snapped.

If the doctor thought that Zuko sounded defensive, he didn't say anything, but merely inclined his head graciously.

"Of course, Your Highness. As I was saying, families will often turn their troubled kin out into the streets. I provide an alternative. Or, they are turned out, and the town will decide that these homeless and desperate souls are too troublesome to remain free. Again, they are brought to me.

"As far as I know, my facility is unique, in all the world."

Zuko looked skeptical. "Well, maybe you can do something with Azula, but I doubt it. She wasn't exactly normal before she started raving. Or even pleasantly dotty. More like, weird. Violently and aggressively weird. With mean and not cool for good measure. And-"

"Uh, yes. I see. At least I will be able to study her case. Maybe it will accomplish some good for others, if not for herself."

"That will be the only good she's ever done. Just keep her out of my hair. I'll provide you with all the funds you need, of course. And I do think we should discuss your security measures before we make the transfer. Do you…_Godsdammit_! Here comes my steward. Something must be up."

Doctor Soong looked over his shoulder. An officious-looking man was striding purposefully across the lawn towards them.

The doctor leaned forward urgently, looking animated for the first time that afternoon. "Sir! I need to make sure we understand each other while we're still alone. You want me to, as you put it, 'secure, control, and monitor' the Princess. In return for this service, you will provide me with all the funds I ask for. I may subject her to whatever procedures I see fit, and conduct my research. But you _don't expect her to recover_?" The doctor stared at Zuko intently.

"Of course! Isn't that what I just said?" Zuko's irritation level soared to new heights as he imagined what his steward was about to say to him. It didn't help that this idiot had inexplicably shoved his face too close to Zuko's own.

Although the Firelord was thinking evil thoughts about people who violated his personal space, the target of those evil thoughts suddenly relaxed. The doctor rose and bowed. "Your Highness, I think we understand each other perfectly."

*****

In due course the Avatar took Azula's firebending. She promptly collapsed, and remained almost comatose for several days. An elite squad of firebenders transported the unconscious girl to her new home, a strange and secretive place in the colonies. There, she was given a room in the facility's maximum security wing. The room's walls were steel, the floor was steel, the door was steel, with a few bars at the top to admit air, and a small panel at the bottom to admit food. There were steel shackles on the walls, but she wasn't in them. Yet.

Eventually, she woke up. For the next month she lay in the dark on the metal floor. There was no light, and no furniture. Nor were there people. The meals came in through the panel in the door, but nobody ever stepped through the door. Or spoke through the door. She was alone…wherever she was.

Finally she got up and rapped on the great steel door with her knuckles. "I demand to speak to the Firelord," she announced clearly, and with a great deal of authority. She stepped back and waited.

A few minutes later a huge man stepped into the room, shedding light on its bleak walls with the fire in his hand. He was dressed as an imperial firebender, complete with skull mask. Azula stood straight and tall, with her chin up, arms folded over her chest. Her hawk eyes were focused..and angry. The soldier guessed that she was seriously pissed off.

"I wish to speak to the Firelord, and your superior will arrange this for me. That is all. You are dismissed."

He stared at her through the mask, and she stared back. Neither moved an inch. Finally the soldier left the room and closed the door behind him. He went straight to Doctor Soong's office, took off his helmet and ran a massive paw through his flattened hair.

"We might have a problem. That one's not crazy."

The doctor didn't bother to look up from his paperwork. "I've been assured that she is. I saw her screaming and howling myself."

"People lose it sometimes. Doesn't mean they're crazy."

"It doesn't matter if she's crazy or not. She's never leaving this place. The Firelord was very clear on that point."

"Are you sure? I don't want to get into trouble for messing around with royalty."

"We're fine. Why do you think he's giving us so much money? And His Highness even mentioned the Bai Jiang girl. You remember the one?"

The soldier thought for a moment. "The family embarrassment? The one who got pregnant?"

"The very one. Obviously, we're going to do a similar favor for the Firelord. His sister is embarrassing. And dangerous. So we make her disappear -- no questions asked. Really, you don't usually fuss like this. "

"So how long before we get rid of her?"

"Oh no. Nothing like that. If she dies at such a young age, people might suspect unpleasant things about the Firelord. Besides, the princess is famous for the strength of her will and the force of her intellect. She will be a fascinating and valuable test subject. "

The tall, powerful soldier turned around to leave. "As long as you're sure."

"Absolutely."


	2. Uncertainty

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. I do love reviews :-) **

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Chapter 2 -- Uncertainty

_Azula heard the "click", and knew that it was about to begin all over again. She started to whimper. _

_At first she noticed only her heightened senses, a welcome and familiar symptom of battle readiness. She felt the ground beneath the soles of her shoes, the heat pouring from her tensed muscles, the rush and throb of blood through her body. _

_Except something was wrong, as there had been since the Boiling Rock. It was like seeing something in the corner of your eye, practically a phantom: because when you went to look at it, it was gone. _

_Azula looked again, but all she saw was the burnt and bloody sky. Then she looked within herself. There. That's why she couldn't see it before. She was wrong._

_Her heart beat a crazy tattoo against her ribcage, and the erratic pounding was shaking her body to pieces. Her bones ached, her joints ached, even her teeth ached. Surely she shouldn't be quite so hot and parched, shouldn't feel her muscles tensed to cramping? She had to choke back vomit as a wave of nausea crashed over her, leaving her bathed in sick sweat._

_But she focused on the lightning behind her eyes, or tried to. Her thoughts skittered around and refused to coalesce. The white-hot lightning was in the way, each bolt expanding into an inferno of hurt and fury. She was angry. So angry. She wished she could remember why. _

_It seemed important to remember, and to solve the mystery of her failing body: but there was no time. She turned on her heel and let her cloak fall. Across the arena stood her brother. She raised a shaking hand, intending to blast him to hell, when hell came to earth and took her instead._

_As she took her stance and extended her arm, she willed her ready store of compressed rage to uncoil a bit, to emit a spark that would obediently leap out and touch her chi to light. She might have foreseen what happened, if she had been in her right mind. But she wasn't, and she didn't. The lightning rushed to do her bidding, slammed with explosive force into a flood of chi already hot and swollen from the comet. As the circuit closed, a massive surge of electric chaos erupted._

_It raced down her chi and outwards through distressed nerves, which screamed "pain!" as the shock overwhelmed them. Her firebending dispersed much of the energy, but some remained. With no other place to go, it doubled back to its source, fueling the firestorm in her brain…_

…_which in turn sparked another catastrophic misfire. She was caught in a self-perpetuating cycle of feedback and overload, a repeating crescendo of rage and pain and madness that never paused, never dulled, and never ended. _

_Azula lost the battle before it began. The great general was brought to her knees, and, in the face of defeat, she embraced the only possible means of escape: she stopped fighting and let her sanity fall before the onslaught._

_She had expected relief. Not for the first time, Azula miscalculated. A person didn't need sanity to feel. Madness brought not peaceful oblivion, but meaningless pain, shame without reason, and misery with no reprieve. She knew that she was chained in a cold place, that masked men bruised her with rough hands, that she was sick and humiliated. But she didn't understand why._

_And she continued to burn. Sometimes the fire erupted from her hands and nostrils. Mostly it consumed her from the inside, superheating her body until the veins glowed like red-hot wires just beneath her skin, becoming blazing vessels of searing torment which she tried again and again to dig out with her fingernails. _

_People, blank-faced strangers and enemies, watched her agony without emotion and without trying to help, as if they were seeing the death throes of a particularly noxious animal. Finally, a boy with glowing eyes placed his hand on her forehead and brought her suffering to its awful end…_

Azula woke up screaming.

After a few moments, she realized that she had been dreaming. Again. Apparently the Spirits thought she hadn't been punished enough. She had to relive her hell over and over, night after night.

And day after day. If there were any "day" in a dark, sunless pit. She shifted a bit, trying in vain to get comfortable on the metal floor. Warm liquid trickled down her mangled forearms. Evidently she'd been clawing at herself in her sleep. Again. Really, this was becoming monotonous.

She actually preferred bloodied limbs to glowing, red-hot veins. Now that she could think about the matter clearly, she supposed that it wasn't possible for blood vessels to glow. Or get hot. Not without killing a person. Had she imagined the whole thing? Her hand twitched as the ghost of old pain passed beneath her skin. The memory was too vivid: she could swear the pain had been real. It was strange not to feel it anymore.

She shifted again, then finally tried curling up on her side into a fetal position. Nobody was here to see her undignified posture. She should have been up and about, training, preparing herself for conflict and escape. Instead she worked to convince herself that she wasn't cold or hungry or tired or sick or scared. Once she felt better, she would get up and go through her forms.

She'd been waiting for a long time to get better. At least, she thought it had been a long time. "Time" had ceased to have meaning. For a while, she counted meals so that she could keep track of the passing days. She gave up when she began to suspect that her meals weren't coming regularly. They certainly weren't frequent enough or substantial enough to satisfy her.

Azula wasn't unfamiliar with interrogation techniques. Between the low rations and the darkness and isolation, she concluded that she was being softened up. But why? What could she possibly know that would benefit anybody but an enemy of the fire nation? The soldier she'd seen had been Fire Nation, not Water Tribe or Earth Kingdom. Clearly, the Firelord had imprisoned her – whoever the present Firelord was. Was it her father, her uncle, or her brother? Her father would have jailed her for failing him. Iroh or Zuko would see her as a danger to the throne…and their lives.

_I did try to kill Zuko_, she reminded herself, _and more than once. But then, he always gave as good as he got. This isn't fair._

Azula laughed into the dark, empty room. What an absurd thought! She could hear her father now, explaining that "fair" was a concept created by the weak, a lie which prevented the strong from taking what was rightfully theirs. How had she suddenly ended up on the wrong side?

A dark voice in the back of her mind whispered that she already knew the answer, if she would just look for it. Azula promptly silenced the voice. It was enough to relive the past in her nightmares without dissecting it in her waking hours

She would make plans instead. How would she get out of here? Once she escaped, how would she regain her former position? _Do you even want to?_ There was that dark, insidious voice again. And once again she shut it down.

Her thoughts ran around in circles. It was impossible, of course. Even she couldn't take into account every possible variation of every possible scenario. She needed information. All she knew right now was that she was locked away in some lightless metal box.

_What if nobody ever comes for me?_ That possibility worried her. Flesh and bone alone wouldn't open a locked metal door, no matter how clever the prisoner was. And if she never had contact with the guards, she couldn't make them her accomplices. She would have to firebend her way out. Azula shivered at the very thought, remembering the day of the comet and its aftermath. She hadn't once tried to firebend since waking up in this awful place.

_They know who I am_, she told herself. _I'm sure it wouldn't work anyway. This cell must have been specially prepared to contain my firebending_. She also told herself that she was just being cautious, that it was totally logical to be careful with fire, given what had happened last time. She wasn't afraid.

Unfortunately, Azula was a marvelous tactician, a skillful politician, and a master of manipulation. It was her business to know people. She was too shrewd, too subtle, not to know herself as well. And to know when she was lying to herself.

Anyone acquainted with her would be surprised: they all believed her lies, and probably thought that she did too. They were wrong. Azula had spent a lifetime doing what seemed necessary, and then carefully not dwelling on it. If she listened to her doubts, if she really considered the difference between her lies and her reality, she would be crippled. She would lose her ability to serve the Fire Nation as it deserved, to act without hesitation, without fear, and without remorse.

Except it had already happened. And her present circumstances were making it impossible to withdraw back into her shell of ruthless self-suppression. In her dark, featureless cell, where there was nothing of interest to look at, her gaze was turning inwards.

She recognized the truth of her situation – was too realistic not to see it, and too brave to ignore it. Azula held back her tears out of habit, but just barely. Something was wrong with her. Inside, something was really and irrevocably broken. She had no power, no resources, no friends, and no family who wished her well. She had a past that she wouldn't think about and a future that she couldn't foresee. Her present had four metal walls and a locked door; the rest was bleak uncertainty. She didn't even know where the hell she was.

Suddenly, Azula heard something.

What was that saying? "This too shall pass"? She couldn't remember where the quote came from, but it didn't matter. It was true: no situation lasted forever. Now, maybe hers was changing.

People were coming.


	3. Rude Awakening

**Thanks a bunch to jacoba -- who reviewed chapter 2 -- and especially to Siveler and Keitorin Asthore, who took the time to review both chapter 1 and chapter 2.**

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Chapter 3 – Rude Awakening

Azula sprang to her feet and "took the stage", as she always thought of it. It was important that her body language say, "arrogant bastard, but with good reason". This was a role she'd worn a million times, and it immediately made her feel better – like stepping into a favorite outfit.

A few moments later the door swung open and half-a-dozen soldiers marched into the room, fully armored but not armed. Benders then. Like all Fire Nation soldiers, they seemed well-trained and professional as they moved to surround her. An especially large one moved forward to face her. She guessed it was the same one she had talked to before.

Azula's voice was cold when she spoke. "I take it you've finally done as I instructed. I'm not accustomed to waiting." If the man had any sense, he would be struggling not to wet himself.

Apparently the man didn't have any sense, or Azula was less convincing than she thought, because he reached out and wrapped a massive hand around her throat. The move was lightning-quick and totally unexpected from such a large person. Before Azula could even register what had happened, her legs were kicked out from under her and somebody pulled a hood over her head.

Two soldiers hauled her up between them and half-carried, half-dragged her out the door and down the hallway. So much for gathering information about her surroundings. She couldn't even measure distance by counting her footsteps. She thought about roughing up her escort, just on principle, but decided that she should cooperate for the moment. She needed to see where they were taking her and assess the situation.

Soon she was thrown against a wall. After a brief hesitation, someone pulled the hood off her head. They were now in another bare, metal room, but larger than her own cell. Perhaps it was chosen because it had room for more soldiers: there were now ten of them arranged in a rough semi-circle around her. Glowing crystals on the walls gave off a leprous, green light which reminded her of Ba Sing Se.

Azula guessed that she was supposed to be intimidated. It didn't work. She'd spent her entire life staring down men who were both older and larger than she was. Zuko had shown her from an early age that someone possessing maleness, oldness, and largeness could still be a total weenie.

She turned her imperious stare on each of them in turn, letting them see that she was sizing them up -- and not impressed. Finally her eyes came to rest on the big one, who was clearly their leader. He took the cue and addressed her.

"State your name, age, and rank."

Azula wasn't in the mood to play games. "You should already know those. I don't go out of my way to help the mentally challenged."

If the big man was offended, his placid voice didn't betray it. "I've been ordered to assess your mental fitness. It is in your best interests to cooperate."

"I'll cooperate when I know what I'm cooperating with."

He reached into the pouch at his side and extracted some rolled up papers. Then he handed them to Azula. "Do you know who these people are?"

The papers contained drawings of her family. She flung them to the floor with a lazy flick of her wrist. "Yes."

"Can you identify them?"

"Yes."

He bent down and picked up one of the sheets. It was Uncle Iroh. "What's his name?"

"If you don't know it, how can you tell if I answer correctly?"

He sighed and shook his head slightly. "You should really answer the questions. You won't like what happens if you don't."

"Why don't you describe the consequences for me?" Her tone was brisk and annoyed rather than worried, though something about his last reply had set off warning bells in her head. What kind of soldier talked like that while conducting official business?

He ignored her suggestion and tried again. "What's your name?"

"Still don't remember?"

"What's your rank?"

"Higher than yours."

"Age?"

"You'll have to tell me the date first. I might have had a birthday since the last time I checked."

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Tell me where I am. Otherwise, I'll have to take that as a philosophical question."

"Stop being childish. It's unworthy of you. And irritating."

Azula privately agreed. But she wasn't giving him anything unless she learned something in return. When he asked for her name again, she interrupted.

"No. What's _your_ name and rank, soldier?"

He paused, surprised. "You know, you're the first one that's ever asked that."

"Well?"

"That's not the issue here."

"I'll decide that. It's my duty and my right to be informed about Fire Nation resources and military personnel."

"You're not in a position to decide anything." He was starting to sound amused.

"But you are, insect?" Azula let contemptuous amusement creep into her own voice. "You? A lackey in some prison? You must have been disgraced to end up with a posting like this. Don't pretend that you would presume-"

She stopped in shock. He was taking off his mask and helmet. That was not acceptable procedure for an on-duty officer. His nose was crooked from an old break, and a jagged scar marred the right side of his face from cheek to chin. Otherwise, he would have been handsome enough – if he weren't so hard looking. Life had clearly made him callous. And dangerous. Light eyes met her own, and they didn't drop or waver.

"I do presume. And I'm here because I like my job. Now stop teasing me and do as you're told. Unless you like it rough." He winked at her. "I know how to deal with flirty little sluts."

Azula's adrenalin level went from zero to overload in the space of a moment. Before the comet, in a different lifetime, her intellect would have crushed the surge of wild, primal fury. Now, the brakes were off. She shifted a bit, and the sudden threat in her stance turned the air ugly. To a man, the soldiers visibly tensed.

The hulking, brutal giant wasn't the only dangerous person in the room.

Azula once again glared at every man in turn, letting each one know that she held him personally accountable. And each one looked away. "Is this how soldiers of the Fire Nation show their quality? By harassing their fellow warrior and countrywoman? By disrespecting a superior? By frightening a young girl with lewd and disgusting innuendo? You shame your homeland, _citizens_."

She had purposefully used a civilian form of address. Some of the men flinched at the insult. While the rest fidgeted nervously, the giant just stared harder. When he spoke, at least he no longer sounded amused.

"You're a fellow warrior are you? And a superior? Whatever you think your position is, think again. You're here because you're guilty of crimes against your family, against the Fire Nation, and against humanity. You're here because you're a sick, fucked-up psycho who can't control herself.

"You're a soldier? Soldiers serve. They know loyalty, sacrifice and obedience – things you know nothing about. Right now I speak with the authority of the Fire Nation, and I'm ordering you to answer my questions. Let's see if you can obey just this once. Your history says _no_.

"What is your name?"

A pulse was beating in Azula's forehead, and there were tears in her eyes – to her shame. _What is wrong with me?_ There was a long hesitation before she spoke. She couldn't seem to force the words past the lump in her throat

"I-" she gagged slightly before continuing. "I have done nothing but serve the Fire Nation since the day I was born. My _history_ is one long record of loyalty to our country, of sacrifice and obedience. But you, you pathetic, sadistic, perverted coward – you and those like you bring disgrace on our proud military tradition. I can read it in your eyes like an open book. You enlisted so that you could hurt and kill and bully. Don't lecture me and don't give me orders. I don't take advice from scum, or commands from jumped-up peasants."

Azula's voice had risen and she sounded almost hysterical. Now she was furious with herself too. Why was she letting him make her so angry? His voice, in contrast, was perfectly calm and even, with a strong undercurrent of menace. In different circumstances Azula would have admired it.

"_You're_ criticizing _me_ for hurting and killing and bullying? Someday we'll discuss the humor in this situation. But right now, it doesn't matter what you think of me. Your behavior is what matters, and your behavior is unacceptable. This will be your first lesson in obedience.

"Every time you disobey, you will be punished. Today you'll lose a privilege." He paused and looked her up and down. For the first time, Azula was aware of how little clothing she was wearing – just a short, coarse shift. She suddenly wished that she was covered from head to toe.

"That privilege will be clothing. Now I'm going to ask you some questions. If you don't answer them truthfully and to the best of your ability, if you say anything that doesn't answer a question I've asked you, then my men and I will strip you. And we'll see where we go from there.

"Little girl, what is your fucking name?"

"You already know my name, and you would fear it too if you weren't dumber than a goat-pig."

She dropped into her stance while she was speaking. As soon as the last word left her mouth, her fist punched the air, unleashing a blast of awesome firepower straight at the giant. Or there should have been awesome firepower. When absolutely nothing happened, Azula was so dumbfounded that she forgot her surroundings and stared mutely at her hand.

That hesitation cost her dearly. The big man took a long step forward, grabbed her wrist, and effortlessly sent her flying towards the opposite wall. Azula managed to save her skull by tucking in her head, but the impact rattled every bone in her body and squeezed the air from her lungs.

She wasn't a renowned warrior for nothing. After crashing into the unyielding metal, Azula slid down into a crumpled heap. When the first soldier reached down for his seemingly helpless victim, she suddenly reached up and slammed his head against the wall at her back.

Whatever doubt she had sown among the soldiers melted away when they saw their comrade go down. They came on in a rush. Azula got her arms under her and swept the next one off his feet with her legs. Instead of getting up right away, she somersaulted between two other soldiers and popped up behind them. She immediately hit another one with a tackle which drove him against a wall and left him winded.

When Azula thought about the fight afterwards, she decided that she just wasn't suited to brawling in close quarters, either by training or by nature. She had been taught to strike from a distance with fire. Now, she had neither fire nor space to work with. The crowded room neutralized her amazing speed and made the fray a cramped, claustrophobic affair. There were no weapons for her to steal and use against their owners. It was a contest of muscle straining against muscle, weight pushing against weight. It was a contest that Azula was destined to lose.

At first she tried to find the door, but there were too many tall bodies in the way. Whenever she tried to make headway or get above them, someone pulled her back. She nailed one man with a kick square in the chest – which might have been devastating if he hadn't been wearing a breastplate and she hadn't been barefoot. As it was, he was knocked back a few feet and she felt the pain of impact shudder up the length of her leg. Another one got an elbow to the side of the head, but she saw stars when her elbow made contact with his helmet. Yet another man got slugged across the jaw. Suddenly her knuckles were split and bloody.

None of them were going down for good; she was struggling just to keep them away from her. If she beat back the man grabbing her right arm, two or three or more grew onto her left arm. It was too hard. She was failing.

Finally the inevitable happened. She flipped someone over her shoulder, straightened up slightly…and before she could do anything about it, a gauntleted fist smashed into her gut. She reflexively doubled over. That was all the opportunity they needed: no less than three soldiers hit her with a flying tackle. She crashed into the floor out of control, rolled over several times, and found herself at the bottom of a growing pig pile.

Despite all her thrashing, bucking, biting, and clawing, she eventually ended up flat on her back with several hundred pounds of soldier holding her down. There were at least half a dozen faces glaring down at her -- most bruised and bloody, all angry. Until this moment, Azula had never really been touched by a man who wasn't part of her immediate family. Not while she was sane anyway. Her already labored breathing took on a slightly panicked edge.

The big man loomed over her. She realized that he had never joined the fight. _He was watching me. Assessing me_. She suddenly wondered if he had provoked her on purpose.

He jerked his head slightly at one of his men, who moved so that the giant could take his place at her side. He kneeled down and placed his hand on the inside of her thigh. "You don't deserve this, but I'm giving you one last chance. Are you going to answer my questions, or should my men tear your clothes off?"

For a second, Azula's mind went completely blank. Instinctively she tried to throw off the hard hands which restrained her, but she couldn't move so much as an inch. When her mind restarted itself, she thought of a dozen reasons why she shouldn't do what the man wanted. The most prominent ones were _outrage_ and _bravado_. She made a half-hearted attempt to say something snide and defiant, but found that she couldn't force it out. She was almost hyper-ventilating.

"I warn you," he said, "if you say anything other than 'yes, Sir, I will answer your questions', then we'll stop playing nice. Well? What will it be?"

The hand on her thigh slid further up.

Azula actually shrieked. "No!... I mean yes! yes yes yes!"

"Yes what?"

"Yes…Yes, S-S-Sir. I'll answer your qu-questions." Azula's heart was trying to hammer its way out of her chest. She felt lightheaded and her eyes kept losing focus. Would he be angry if she passed out?

"What is your name?"

"Azu-…Azula." _Why can't I breathe?_

"Age?"

"F-Fourteen."

"Rank?"

"Princess…of…of the Fire Nation."

"Did you recognize the people in those drawings?"

"Yes. It was the royal family."

"Whose family?"

"The royal…Mine. It was my family."

"Why are you here?"

"I don't know where I am." Azula had been holding back tears ever since she woke up in her metal cage. They finally broke free and slid down her cheeks. She realized this answer might not be good enough and hastily added, "But I think the Firelord put me here."

"Who is the present Firelord?"

"I don't know. I don't know."

"What happened to your arms?"

"Wh-What?" _Oh no_. She didn't know what he was talking about. _Please don't be angry Please don't be angry_…

"You're forearms have been gouged. How did that happen?"

"I did that."

"Why?"

"In my sleep. I have bad dreams."

"About what?"

"I don't know. Don't remember," she lied. Maybe she shouldn't be lying, but she was starting to feel very distant and it seemed too difficult to explain.

He looked at her hard, but evidently decided to let it pass. Finally he took his hands off her and stood. "Get her up," he ordered.

The other soldiers also rose. Azula lay very still where she was. Finally, two of them hauled her to her feet. The big man was still watching her closely. Then he glanced at the soldiers holding her arms. "Let her go."

They promptly removed their hands and she just as promptly fell, limp as a rag-doll. There were hands on her again. Did they catch her, or were they picking her up off the floor? Azula was confused. Then someone put fingers to the pulse on her throat.

"…shock? or maybe a head injury…" She heard the words from somewhere far away, but couldn't make any sense of them. Then more words. And then she thought she was being carried somewhere.

She heard a heavy door slam shut, and that she did understand. Once again she was alone in the dark.


	4. Rhetorical Questions

**As ever, thanks for the reviews. The chapter 3 reviews seemed especially thoughtful, which I do appreciate. It's incredibly helpful to hear other people's thoughts and interpretations. And I'm glad that nobody's offended because I put our favorite firebender in such a sketchy situation :-)**

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Chapter 4 – Rhetorical Questions

Azula woke up suddenly: somebody was shaking her. She sat bolt up-right, then immediately fell back again. Her head hit the metal floor hard enough to make her see stars. An awful wave of dizziness pushed the mysterious person from her mind. Soon she noticed the shaking again. There was also a voice. It was deep and male and clearly annoyed.

"I thought I told you to wake her up every twenty minutes. What about the food and water? Did you follow any of my orders?"

There was another voice then, probably making an excuse. Azula couldn't quite make out what it was. Still, she almost smiled: an underling was catching hell.

A moment later memory came flooding back and stole her happy glow. She reluctantly opened her eyes to see if her suspicions were correct. They were. The person who had called her back to consciousness was none other than the gigantic monster from her nightmare. Except it wasn't a nightmare. It was real. He was real.

When he saw that her eyes were open, he first checked her pulse, then raised his hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

"What's your name?"

"Azula."

"Can you sit up?"

This time she sat up slowly and made it without mishap. The huge man snapped, "Shin, the food." A soldier appeared bearing a glass of water and a bowl of rice. He set these down next to her and withdrew. Now that she was more aware, Azula automatically scanned the room for other soldiers.

As if reading her thoughts, the giant grabbed her chin with his massive paw and jerked her head around so she was looking directly at him. "You don't need to know who else is in the room. _I_ am telling you to eat. So eat."

She picked up the bowl as instructed, then stopped. "There are no chopsticks. Do you expect me to eat like an animal?" The cold, disgusted criticism just slipped out. It was a natural reflex for somebody who had always received her food from servants. As soon as she realized her mistake, she tensed up and stared fixedly into the bowl, not daring to look him in the eye. He might take it as a challenge.

"We aren't your servants and we don't jump at your commands, _Princess_. Take what you get and do as I say."

Azula still didn't look up. Without another word she started eating, doing as best she could with her stiff, sore fingers. Like the rest of her body, they were swollen, bruised and battered. It would have been impossible to use chopsticks anyway.

She guessed that she was supposed to eat all the food, so she stuffed it down even though she had no appetite. The memory of her own cowardice turned her stomach. How could she have allowed herself to panic so completely? Would that be the story of her life now: another day, another breakdown? And that big, ugly bastard had her completely cowed after just one meeting.

Self-loathing threatened to overwhelm her. Would they report everything to the Firelord? When her father heard about her shameful weakness, he would despise her even more. If they told Zuko, he would probably laugh at the irony, remembering all those years when _she_ had taunted _him_ for weakness. It wouldn't make a difference to Iroh. He already thought she was worthless.

With an effort, Azula crushed her pathetic self-pity. Wallowing in emotion was a waste of time and energy. She needed to think. Her firebending – what had happened to it and what to do about it? And the big soldier – how was she supposed to gain the upper hand? Something about the situation had to change. She needed a weapon: the element of surprise, an accomplice, even a knife would do.

She never had a chance to pursue her line of thought. The second she finished her meal, the hood came out and they put shackles on her wrists and ankles. The giant carried her himself, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of rice. "Doctor wants to see you. Don't even think of starting anything."

Azula didn't plan to start anything. Now was not the time to resist. Besides, they were taking her to a doctor. She really didn't want to be touched, but she could get through it if she had to. She would benefit from some medical attention, and she needed to be as strong as possible.

When they reached their destination, the giant set her down on a stool. Someone removed the hood shortly afterwards. Once again she found herself in a metal room lit by glowing crystals. One soldier stood on either side of her, one behind her, and the rest lined the walls. Somebody in the corner was seated at a desk with paper and writing utensils spread out before him. Another man, who clearly wasn't a soldier, sat directly opposite her.

The giant was stationed at his right shoulder, but Azula focused on the stranger. He was pale, even by fire nation standards. She could see the veins just beneath his pearly skin. His eyes were also pale, and their color indistinguishable. Even his hair was ashen. She couldn't tell if the color was natural or if he was prematurely grey. He was dressed in grey as well, a bizarre but strangely fitting affectation. A grey man for a grey place.

His long, loose limbs were posed casually. Too casually. He was far more relaxed than was possible – or appropriate – for the circumstances. To Azula's expert eye, his posture seemed studied and ill-advised. The severe cut of his clothing suggested austerity, until you noticed that the material was expensive and the tailoring excellent. His outfit emphasized his thinness. He probably thought that he was elegantly slender. As a warrior, Azula saw only the weakness of an effete.

She recalled that she was supposed to meet "the doctor". If he was a doctor, he was a strange one. He had no medical equipment. And he was watching her, but obviously so. He wasn't assessing injuries; rather, his audience was supposed to appreciate his sharp, knowing gaze. But Azula wasn't impressed by the self-stylings of a poseur. She knew that her own gaze was more penetrating, her judgment keener.

The ghostly face cracked. Apparently that expression was supposed to be a smile. _Really_, thought Azula, _I thought I was bad_. True cheer and good-will were the most difficult emotions to fake. For years she had practiced her smile in the mirror. One day she concluded that a smile really had to be felt. She had stopped smiling long ago; at that moment, she stopped trying as well. This man should have stopped trying too. Or at least practiced more.

"Hello, Azula. I'm pleased to meet you at last. It pains me that we couldn't have known each other under more pleasant circumstances. But maybe, if we're successful, that day will come." His diction was precise and perfect, as if it had been scrubbed of all individuality. Azula guessed that he was covering up a vulgar, low-born accent.

"Etiquette dictates that you introduce yourself, Sir. Especially since you obviously know who I am. I also insist that you address me by my honorific, since it's improper for me to acknowledge a peasant otherwise." There. The social-climbing hog-monkey would know that his ill-bred manners had been noted.

"Excuse me. I had hoped that we would establish a close relationship, and _Former Princess Azula_ just seemed too formal." _Touché_. Had she really been stripped of her title?

"If you really want a close relationship, you could start by helping me with something." Azula held up her shackled hands and tugged on the chain a few times.

"I'm sorry, but those are a necessary precaution. Maybe in the future…Here. We've gotten off to a bad start, the very thing I wanted to avoid. Let me introduce myself.

"I'm Doctor Soong, and you're currently residing at my institution. It's called the _Readjustment Center for the Psychically Unbalanced_." He paused significantly. Was she supposed to know about his inane little project? She decided to ask a question, and probably not the one he expected.

"You're a medical doctor?"

"No…" She was right. He hadn't expected that.

"An academic then. Where did you study? The Fire Nation Academy?"

"No."

"Ah." Azula let the one syllable say it all. He hadn't been good enough for the Academy: he was second rate.

"They weren't progressive enough to accommodate my interests." This was clearly an excuse that he'd honed carefully. As he bit off each word, Azula realized that she'd hit a sore point. Good.

"And who did accommodate these interests?"

"It would be more to the point to discuss the interests themselves, since they affect you directly. As I was saying, this is the _Readjustment Center for the Psychically Unbalanced_. You're here so that we can help you."

Azula knew right then that her father had been deposed, and that either Iroh or Zuko held the throne. This seemed like precisely their brand of hypocrisy: to condemn her to hell and then claim it was for her own good.

Doctor Soong prattled on for a while, spouting big words and unnecessary jargon. He made some fairly obvious and shallow comments about deranged behavior, and then moved on to her own deranged behavior. And how he would fix it. The fool obviously liked to talk.

Apparently he asked a question, because he paused and looked at her.

Azula opted for brutal honesty. "What? I didn't hear your question, because I wasn't listening. I was thinking how idiotic you are. So what you're basically saying is that I'm a bad girl and you're going to make me be good?"

His lips thinned. "Being a 'bad girl' is part of it, but you're also dysfunctional. I'm going to make sure that you're no longer a danger to others or yourself. I'm going to help you live."

"As you can see, I'm perfectly functional."

"You weren't. You were raving. I saw you. As for your condition now, I'll be the judge of that."

"By what right? I'm lucid. It's _my_ right as a human being to make decisions about my life."

"The Firelord has placed you in my care and given me this charge."

"He told you to make me functional? Well you've done that. You've fulfilled your duty. Now release me."

"The Firelord has not authorized me to do that."

"What did he authorize you to do, once you made me functional?"

"He gave me no orders for that situation."

"Then contact him and request orders."

"Maybe you're functional, but you're still 'bad', as you so succinctly put it."

Something dangerous and ugly stirred in Azula. That's how it was, was it? She was being punished. She could appreciate the ruthless demands of political necessity, but – morally and legally speaking -- she didn't deserve this. Her family shouldn't smear her honor by pretending that she did.

"Who decides that I'm 'bad'?"

"Everyone. Everyone knows about the vile things that you've done.

"No, don't be vague. I mean it. Who decided that my actions were wrong? What perfect, infallible moral authority decided this?"

"The Firelord. Firelord Zuko decided."

Azula's lip curled in disgust. Zuko. Blast him. He was too cowardly to execute her and get it over with. He just had to show the world that he was too good for that -- while secretly inflicting as much pain as possible.

"So he decided that I've done evil, awful things. And he's locked me away for that. Tell me, did he give me a trial?"

"No. And you're not locked away, as such. You're receiving help. A trial wasn't necessary."

"Like hell. I can't leave. I've been imprisoned without a trial."

"Maybe you should consider yourself lucky. You might have been thrown into an actual prison, or executed."

"By who? A jury of Earth Kingdom peasants? They'd rip apart anybody who even looks like a Fire National. No. I've lived my whole life by Fire Nation laws. I have a right to be tried by a Fire Nation jury. And not one of them would convict me of wrong-doing."

"Maybe that's why the Firelord didn't have you tried."

"What? He didn't give me a fair trial because I might be acquitted?"

"A Fire Nation jury wouldn't be impartial. Just because they don't care about Earth Kingdom subjects, doesn't mean that you didn't wrong those people."

"We're in a state of war. Since when do we sentence our own soldiers for wronging the enemy?"

"We are not in a state of war. It's over. Together, the Firelord and Fire Nation are trying to atone for its sins."

Azula stared, shocked. "By the gods. The war is over? What the hell has been happening?"

Doctor Soong looked smug, like he had finally scored a point. "You'd know what's been happening if you weren't completely out of your mind. You were living in the palace for weeks before you came here."

"That doesn't change anything. I'm not out of my mind now. And I have a right to trial. Is this how the Fire Nation atones for its so-called sins? By making an example of someone who fought in the hundred-year war for less than one year?"

"You only fought for a few months, but the harm you did during that time was almost incomparable."

"Ba Sing Se fell to a bloodless coup. I spent the rest of my time hunting Zuko and the Avatar. Both were officially declared enemies of the Fire Nation. The only person I killed was the Avatar, whom my brother and the entire army also tried to kill. Numerous times. I was the only person talented enough to get the job done. And then it turned out that I hadn't killed him! Tell me again. What did I do wrong?"

"You shot your own brother full of lightning."

"It was an Agni Kai, a contest between two people who agree to participate. My brother walked into that with his eyes open, and if I tried to kill him, he also tried to kill me. We tried to kill each other. If anyone did wrong, it was him. He cheated: his waterbender took me out after he was down. Duels are one-on-one fights, not two-against-one."

"But you do admit that you fought against the Firelord with lethal intent."

"He wasn't the Firelord at the time. He wasn't even the Prince. He'd been stripped of his title and declared a criminal. He was trying to prevent my coronation, which was legally ordained by the man who was Firelord at the time.

"Listen, I wasn't the only person or even the first person who tried to kill or capture Zuko. Why haven't those other soldiers been punished? If we're talking about crimes against the Earth Kingdom, why haven't all our soldiers been locked away? Or at least Mai, Ty Lee, and Zuko, who helped me take Ba Sing Se? Or the civilians who have benefited from war booty? You have soldiers here. This is a military installation. Hasn't it been funded by military conquest? Aren't you benefiting from that plunder too? And what's your guard dog's name?"

Doctor Soong blinked. "What? My dog?"

"That big, violent beast standing at your shoulder. What's his name?"

"The captain of our security unit? Kwan Yu." Well, she had a name now anyway.

"Have you ever asked Kwan Yu how he spent the war? Why don't you try comparing his service record to mine. Or, if we're talking about crimes against nations, what about the Avatar? How many of our men did he kill during the course of the war? How many did he kill just at the North Pole? He single-handedly took out an entire invasion force. Why isn't he in here with me?"

Azula had the floor now. The so-called "Doctor" was momentarily speechless. She could practically see his mental struggle: he just couldn't respond to the relentless logic of her arguments. This was the man in charge? Maybe she was better off than she had believed.

She focused her will for the final push. The weak wanted the strong to lead them, and she was about to lead the good Doctor to a higher cause. Azula locked her gaze on him, imagined that it was drilling straight through the space between his eyes. She threw behind it the entire weight of her personality, her purpose and self-assurance. Doctor Soong was transfixed, like a small grey bird staring at a viper.

After a tense and meaningful pause, Azula spoke. She pitched her voice low, so that it carried the intensity of passionate conviction.

"You're clearly a man who takes pride in his work. You can tell that I'm not crazy. You're also a man who can see the true nature of things. Most of what I did, the Firelord ordered me to do. He authorized and approved the rest. I always obeyed our country's legitimate sovereign authority. You must acknowledge both my sanity and the perfect legality of all my actions. Your professional integrity demands it.

"Ideological differences put me here, not legal issues. My brother and I represent opposite sides of a debate which now consumes our nation." Of course, Azula didn't know if it was consuming the nation, but it seemed like a logical guess.

"It must seem to many that I'm being punished because I was a good and lawful citizen. Ever since humans first gathered into cities and kingdoms, international relations have recognized no law except one: the law of nature. This law states that the stronger will overcome and dominate the weaker. We are not the first to embrace this law. At one time or another, members of all the nations have taken the path of conquest. We are merely the latest and the best.

"Didn't our obedience to this law enrich and benefit our citizens? When I showed my obedience to this law, I served both the Firelord and the best interests of our nation.

" Didn't they do the same: my brothers-in-arms, the members of our glorious military forces? They made us masters of the world -- with their lives, with their ingenuity, with their blood and sweat and sacrifice, by the strength of their arms and the fire in their hearts. Will their reward be like mine? Everyone wants to know the answer to this question. And you can provide it.

"Get me a public trial. A trial decided by a jury of my peers. Only a military panel has the right to judge one of their own. And only they would have the power to overturn the Firelord's decision, should they wish to. The people will have a voice, and for the first time in history they will show the Firelord that his will can't override their own.

"It will be the trial of the century, and your name will be in the middle of it. You don't have to be my champion. You will be the champion of a cause. History will owe you a debt, and everyone will see it. They will recognize your intellectual dedication to these momentous issues. They will revere your patriotism."

Doctor Soong was leaning forward with his mouth slightly agape. He was rapt, intent. He was hers. Azula almost breathed a sigh of relief. She was in control again, and she hadn't lost her touch. From the very smallest scraps of information, she had concocted a scheme that appealed to the doctor's vanity. If she actually decided to go through with the trial, she could also deliver a severe blow to Zuko and his peace efforts. It would be even better than spitting in his face.

Now all she had to do was provide this weak-minded peacock-rooster with some instructions. She leaned forward slightly and opened her mouth to speak again, carefully maintaining eye contact the whole time. She mustn't break the spell, not with victory within her grasp.

Suddenly someone delivered a powerful blow to side of her head. It knocked her off her stool and sent her sprawling to the floor. He immediately picked her up with one hand, while pulling her hair with the other. Her head jerked back so she was forced to look up. And up. It was of course Kwan Yu the giant. The skull mask covered his face, but when he spoke she recognized the same dark amusement which she had noticed before.

"That was a good speech, Princess. But right now I think I'll exercise my own strength and dominate you. It's my right according to natural law."

_No_! She had been so close! Within the space of a breath, Azula's vision turned red. Her head was pounding in time to her heart and she could hear roaring in her ears. Fury liberated her from both fear and caution. Forgetting her recent scare, she balled her hand into a fist. If she hadn't been shackled she would have pounded the smug bastard.

He must have seen the anger in her face, because he decided to egg her on. "You should thank me for indulging you. I'm about to introduce you to a jury of your peers – though it won't be a military tribunal. You're not good enough for that."

He tossed her to a pair of waiting soldiers. The hood came down, and once again they hauled her off to some unknown destination.


	5. A Jury of Her Peers

**Happy Holidays, everyone! And an extra big thank you for everybody who bothered to read and review during their vacation.**

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Chapter 5 – A Jury of Her Peers

As the soldiers dragged her along, Azula fumed silently. She had assumed that Kwan Yu was subordinate to the Doctor and wouldn't interfere. Clearly that was not the nature of their relationship. She shouldn't have made her play before gathering more information. And Kwan Yu said she would meet "a jury of her peers". What had he meant by that?

After a few minutes she thought she heard a muted roaring, and it was getting louder. Where were they taking her?

When the source of the noise became clear, she surmised that they had entered a large room full of people. There were voices everywhere -- loud, strange, raucous voices. Some of them seemed to be imitating animal noises. The whole weird cacophony sounded…off. It was different from any crowd she'd heard before.

The soldiers threw her down on the floor. Immediately a very large foot planted itself in the small of her back, pinning her down. Kwan Yu's roar easily made itself heard above the clamorous noise. Silence fell instantaneously. Azula had to admit: that was a useful talent.

"We're all here today to greet our newest member."

A deafening cheer went up.

"Would you all like to see your new friend's face?"

Another cheer.

He jerked her up and removed the hood. The uproar stuttered to a shocked halt. For a few moments there wasn't a sound, nor any movement. Finally someone murmured, "It's a woman." The voice was almost reverent. A few more followed, muttering the same words in the same awed tone.

Their faces, though, weren't awed or reverent. She was on the ground level in some sort of semi-circular theatre, where the seating rose upwards in rings. While Azula studied the spectators, they stared down at her. Even as she watched, their expressions rapidly changed from surprised to avid. Many of them leaned forward in their seats. They looked like they were trying to devour her with their eyes.

Some of them weren't. A man in the front row, for example, was too busy chewing on his own tongue. Blood dribbled down his chin. More than one person was rocking back and forth and drooling. Somebody's head was lolling from side-to-side, eyes rolled up in their sockets. Still another man was twitching and touching himself uncontrollably.

They did have a few things in common. All had shaved heads. All had some sort of large, obvious scar on the face or neck. A few of the scars were carved into fanciful shapes -- quite artistic really. And they were all men.

The noise level quickly rose again. Two men tried to crawl out of their seats towards her, but they were hindered by their shackles -- and by guards wielding wooden clubs. One man got whacked in the gut…and whacked and whacked and whacked again. Eventually he lay motionless on the floor, where the guard hit him a few more times for good measure. The other got a club to his face. Blood and teeth spattered the man next to him. He fell onto the same man, who promptly spit on him and threw him aside.

Matters were clearly spiraling out of control, until Kwan Yu spoke. Again, the crowd stilled as if by magic.

"Nobody touches this one," he said gently, "except for me. If you do, you'll be punished like you've never been punished before."

The mob stirred uneasily.

Kwan Yu continued, "This girl is from a noble family. In her arrogance, she has already defied me. Is that allowed?"

"Noooo!"

"Is that right?"

"Noooo!"

"Is she guilty of wrong?"

"Yeeees!"

"Repeat that. What's your verdict?"

"Guilty!"

"How should we punish her?"

The crowd erupted with gleeful enthusiasm, and seemed to think the question was a challenge to their creativity. Azula caught dozens of shouted suggestions

"Cut her!"

"Brand her!"

"Take her nose!"

"The rope, the rack, a bloody whack!"

It wasn't until somebody suggested "Fuck her," that they reached some sort of consensus. They all started to chant it, and rattled their chains in time.

Kwan Yu raised a hand, and the hideous rhythm stopped. "Now now. Restraint, gentlemen. This is your new sister, after all, and she's still learning the rules. Let's give her the usual welcome. How do we greet new members of the family?"

"Her face!"

"Her hair!"

Apparently Kwan Yu was getting tired of this farce, because he didn't bother to say anything else. He simply extended his hand, and one of the soldiers placed a razor in it. He brought it up in front of Azula's face. "I would hold still if I were you, Princess."

She had every intention of doing so. At least this rabble would learn that royalty didn't flinch.

Kwan Yu shifted the razor so that it was poised over her left cheek. Paused. Shifted it again. Paused. Finally he came to some sort of decision and went straight for her hair.

He didn't bother to use lubricant. The dry razor cut her scalp several times, but Azula hardly noticed the pain or the blood. She also didn't notice the glossy locks which fell to the floor. She was looking straight ahead in order to avoid that very sight. Her eyes were unfocused, though, so that she wouldn't make eye contact with the demented audience members.

Azula tried to keep her thoughts cool and analytical. She would _not_ become emotional over what was happening. Unless the emotion was anger. Anger was good. Anger was useful. She calmly noted that Kwan Yu had so far subjected her to hunger, isolation, gang violence, sexual intimidation, and now public humiliation. The man obviously knew his business. What other strategies would he use to control her?

_Clever bastard_, she thought. _I hate you_.

There was more talking and more shouting, and the tongue-chewer in the front row decided to spit, spraying her with blood. But Azula had stopped paying attention. When the hood came down she was actually grateful for it. She felt an absurd sense of relief, as if the hood shielded her from the hungry gaze of human predators.

When the hood came off again, she was safe in her cell once more. Kwan Yu was standing in front of her.

"I'm going to kill you," she informed him. Her voice was flat. It wasn't a dramatic declaration, simply a statement of fact.

"If I actually give you a chance, then I deserve what I get." He also spoke without emotion. "But you might want to rethink your plan. I'm what's standing between you and those animals you met today. If you behave yourself, I'll take care of you. Otherwise you're fair game. I don't want to clean up the mess, so choose carefully."

He took off her shackles and turned to go. Before he shut the door, he left her with one more warning. "If one of them gets his hands on you, you'd better pray for a quick death."

Azula sat down cross-legged, as if meditating, and willed each part of her body to stop shaking. Once this was done, she stood up and began to go through her forms. She had a lot to think about. She might as well train while she did it.


	6. Masks I

**Hello, everyone. This chapter is a bit different -- I hope you enjoy it. I thought everyone could use a break from skeavey prison guards and inmates :-)**

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Chapter 6 – Masks I

Azula was wandering through the palace, looking for someone. Or something? She knew that she was searching, searching desperately, but she didn't know what for.

When she entered the garden, she saw Ty Lee sitting on a bench. Was she looking for Ty Lee? Azula walked up to her, though she didn't know what she wanted to say.

"Ty Lee…" Ty Lee wasn't looking at her. "Hey, Ty Lee!" Azula snapped her fingers a few times, but there was no reaction. Ty Lee was ignoring her! That was unacceptable.

Or maybe she was just distracted? Azula followed Ty Lee's line of sight, then jerked in surprise when she saw the creature that was approaching.

It had her height, her build, her armor, her own leonine grace and perfectly coiffed hair. But instead of a face, it had a mask – a grotesque mockery of a face. It was twisted into an exaggerated smirk.

It…she?...sat down next to Ty Lee. Azula expected Ty Lee to attack it, or at least to jump away and ask some questions. She did neither of these things; rather, she plastered a huge grin on her face and used her "perky" voice. "Hey, 'Zula! How are you?"

"Ty Lee!" Azula was appalled.

"Ty Lee!" The thing pretending to be Azula tried to sound cheery. It adopted a high, falsetto tone which grated on the nerves. "I just got back from my stylists. What do you think of my new look?"

"You look great 'Zula! But then, you always do. You have natural beauty."

"I know."

"Why do you try to add to perfection?"

"You know I can't help it. I just always strive to better myself."

Azula took a long step forward and punched the impostor in the jaw. Her fist went right through it. The masked idiot stood up and walked away. Apparently it had fished for enough compliments today. Furious, Azula yelled at its retreating back.

"You stupid, ugly bitch! You're wearing too much makeup!"

Swinging around, she turned on Ty Lee angrily. Ty Lee was lying on the bench, staring up dreamily into the leaves overhead.

"Ty Lee, I can't believe you fell for that disgusting display. How could you think that was me?" Ty Lee clearly couldn't hear her, but Azula kept going anyway.

"People who really feel good about themselves don't go around saying how great they are, and they don't ask for compliments. Why do you play along? And I never believed you anyway."

Azula stomped back inside. Now what had she been looking for?

Rounding a corner, she almost knocked into a servant. The girl was wiping down some expensive glassware. A second later one of the pieces slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor. It shattered on impact, strewing the floor with shards and slivers.

Rolling her eyes at the girl's clumsiness, Azula stepped gingerly over the mess, intending to leave the servant to her business. She had more important things to worry about. She stopped, however, when another Azula-thing strode into view.

Ugly lines of fury were etched deeply into its mask. Its voice lashed like a whip. "You! Whose was that?"

"Wh-What, Your Highness?" The terrified servant had dropped into a kowtow, but it looked more like cowering.

"Whose property did you just destroy?" Azula-thing bit off each word. It was now standing right in front of the girl, staring down at her with baleful intensity.

"Y-Y-Yours?"

"You just destroyed the property of the Royal Family. Do you know what the penalty is for that crime?"

"It was an accident. Please…" The girl was completely destroyed: she was weeping and shaking.

"Is that how you serve the royal family? With clumsiness and foolishness? Is that how you represent us? Is it?"

The poor servant moaned incoherently. This time, Azula rolled her eyes at her own double. "_Spirits_. It's just a glass. Calm the hell down and stop making an ass of yourself."

Azula-thing didn't take her advice. "I'm going to show you mercy" it said, "but just this once. From now on, I expect perfect competence from you. If I see otherwise, you'll know the meaning of pain."

At that moment, Mai appeared in the doorway. She took in the scene at a glance. "Hello, Azula. Are you enjoying yourself?"

Azula-thing laughed darkly. "Of course I am."

Azula protested. "I did not enjoy that. I was just pretending."

The trembling servant was dismissed. The girl crawled backwards through the doorway and out of sight. Mai's droll façade never cracked. "I see you've been improving staff morale. Again."

"A necessary joy. Our inferiors can't be allowed to forget their place."

"And you can't be expected to overlook even the smallest imperfection." The words and the tone were carefully neutral, but Azula recognized the mocking criticism for what it was. She had known Mai for a long time after all.

Azula-thing also understood. It moved so that it was standing face-to-face with Mai. They were almost touching noses. "No, Mai. I overlook nothing."

Azula looked back and forth at the two girls while they tried to stare each other down. "Mai," she said, "there are retarded children who act more appropriately than I do. Just say it. Say it to my face."

But, as always, Mai said nothing. Satisfied by the lack of open rebellion, Azula-thing turned to walk away. It delivered a parting shot over its shoulder. "By the way, Mai, don't forget those briefings I asked for." In other words, _don't forget that I command you_.

After it left, Mai stayed where she was for a moment, smiling contemptuously. Hot tears sprang to Azula's eyes, but she didn't know if it was from anger or sadness.

"Godsdammit, Mai. At the Boiling Rock, you told the truth for Zuko's sake. Why couldn't you do it for my sake?"

Mai started to walk away. Azula followed, desperately trying to make her listen. "You laughed at me and despised me behind my back. You always thought that you were better than me. That's not true. You were a bad friend too.

"Ty Lee is a flake, but you knew. You _knew_ that something was wrong with me. And you never asked me what it was. Not once."

It was useless. Mai just kept going. Azula let her go. She didn't have time to waste on somebody who couldn't hear her anyway. She had to find it – find whatever it was she was searching for.

By now Azula had realized that she was dreaming. She suspected that, in true dream-fashion, she would never find what she was looking for. She also knew what was coming next, and she didn't want to see it.

Sure enough, Zuko was gazing up at one of the tapestries when she entered the Great Hall. He was brooding again. Of course. He looked so magnificently sullen, so adorably tragic, that she felt a great swell of affection mixed with annoyance. She didn't know whether to giggle or to pull her hair in frustration.

"You know, Zuzu, you actually have a lot to smile about. If you just tried it, you might find that you like it."

He didn't react. She sighed, waiting for the inevitable to happen. As if on cue, her dark double came sauntering in. Its mask was molded into a vicious jeer, and its voice dripped with smug mockery. "You know, Zuzu, you actually have a lot to worry about. I'm not surprised that you brood so much."

Zuko's shoulders immediately tensed up, and his scowl was replaced by a weary, watchful look. "Azula."

"Not going to ask me what you should worry about this time?"

"Why ask? You're going to tell me anyway."

"Well, you're wrong. I think I'll let this one come as a surprise. I'm just letting you know so that you can feel the…_anticipation_."

Now Azula was really exasperated with her brother. "Zuko," she snapped impatiently, "she's just yanking your chain. You don't have to take this."

He did take it, though – without anger or complaint, without calling her on her bullshit. He just glared at Azula-thing, and gave her that resentful, wounded look he did so well.

"That's all I wanted to say. Enjoy the rest of your day." The words should have been cheery, but the voice was dark with the promise of pain. Azula-thing strolled away without a backwards glance.

Zuko went back to studying their father's portrait. The pall of anxious misery had settled over him more thickly than ever. Azula didn't know if she was more irritated with him or with herself.

"Zuko, I shouldn't have done that, but you could have stopped it. You're older. And a boy. And the heir to the throne. Why didn't you ever act like it? I wanted you to fight back. You never did, and that's your fault."

He kept staring fixedly at the portrait. She decided to start wandering again: his distress was distressing her. She had now seen her "friends" – all three of them. What could be left? Why wasn't this stupid dream ending?

"Princess! A moment of your time, Your Highness?"

Azula spun around in shock: someone could actually see her. It was a senior servant. He bowed low and delivered his message: "Princess, the Firelord commands your presence in the Throne Room at the beginning of the fifth watch."

"Understood."

An audience with her father. As usual, the prospect filled her with conflicting emotions; although, as usual, the most prominent emotion was anxiety. Had she failed to do something? Or performed with less than perfect efficiency? She couldn't think of anything, but that didn't matter. Her father was both exacting and unpredictable. He might praise her, or he might punish her. There was just no telling.

Feeling strangely oppressed, Azula continued her hopeless search. But the palace was devoid of humans, of human warmth, of human touch, of conversation and companionship. It was empty, empty, empty.

Eventually she gave up and went to her room, where she sat down and did some paperwork. Then she did some stretching exercises. Then she pulled out some scrolls on military history and tactics. The silence should have helped her concentration, but she kept glancing at the fading light out her window.

Servants brought her dinner. They neither spoke to her, nor did she speak to them – which was only proper. She sat at her table and ate alone in the twilit room. As the shadows deepened, so did the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had done something wrong. She was sure of it.

It would be full dark soon, and when it was, she would have to go to the Throne Room. Licking her lips nervously, she looked at her closet door. She would find help there for the coming ordeal. Did she really want that kind of help?

Her plates were empty. The time had come. What would it be?

Dread decided for her. Hesitantly, reluctantly, Azula walked to her closet. She opened the door and looked in. Blackness stared back at her. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through.

The only light came from the blue fire in her hand, and it cast strange shadows on the faces. They were strung up on either side of her, waxen-faced puppet-people dangling by their strings, hanging in her closet like meat in a butcher shop.

The first three faces were familiar to her. She had seen them already today. There were other masks, though. Some were bitter, some triumphant, some angry, some smug. The parade of masks went on and on, wearing an endless variety of expressions. But they were all cruel.

Azula walked further and further from the door, fighting down panic the whole way. The Azula-things loomed over her, dominating the claustrophobic space. They were menacing even at rest, but she was thinking of her father. She needed a mask. Each of these was a terrible caricature of herself, and she loathed every one of them – but she had to have an appropriate face to show her father.

She wiped her sweaty forehead on her sleeve. The air was starting to feel close, and it smelled of gore.

The problem was, she never seemed to pick the right one. Which mask should she choose this time? None of them seemed good enough.

Perhaps the best had been saved for last? But no, she was doomed to disappointment. The final masks were unsatisfactory, just like the rest. She turned around and headed back towards the door, feeling equal parts frustration and relief. She still hadn't found the perfect mask, but at least she was getting out of here. The air had become really stifling, and the stench of rotting meat was almost overpowering.

By the time she reached the door, she was slick with sweat and her lungs were laboring to draw breath. She stumbled eagerly into her bedroom, but was met with a bitter disappointment. When she tried to gulp down some clean, fresh air, she found the atmosphere to be just as foul. What could be causing--

Azula jerked in surprise – so violently that she crashed into the wall behind her. One of the masked monsters was moving around her room.

She watched as its chest heaved in time to her own strained breathing. It was her. She was looking at a mirror.

_Stupid_, Azula chided herself. _You put on one of the masks and just forgot about it_. Completely and utterly forgot about it. As in, she had no recollection whatsoever.

Panic did not become a princess. She willed herself to straighten up and walk slowly to the mirror, so that she could see what she was doing. Liquid oozed down her arms and legs, squelching beneath each footstep and leaving viscous puddles of slime to mark her passing. Azula realized that it wasn't sweat.

When she raised her hands to remove the mask, she noticed that her arms were spotted with putrefaction. And the blight was spreading before her very eyes, turning her skin brown and green and black in ever-widening circles.

_Calm_. _Just stay calm_…

Azula placed her fingers under the edge of the mask, which was mocking her with hideous glee. But the bones in her fingers had long since lost their rigidity. They mashed up into a rubbery mess when she tried to apply pressure.

Throwing self-control to the winds, she flailed at the mask with the pulpy ruins of her hands. She had to get it off: she couldn't breathe. She was rotting from the inside and choking on the fumes.

She tried to call for help, but she couldn't, and there was no one there to hear her anyway.

One of her legs snapped beneath her and spilled her to the floor, where she lay in a rapidly expanding pool of her own liquefied flesh. The rancid smell of decay was nauseating, and maggots were starting to swarm at the edges.

Azula couldn't live like this anymore, so she closed her eyes and decided not to. She gave up. There was a small "click", and…

*****

She woke not with a scream, but a whimper.

Alone in the dark, lying on the hard floor, Azula slowly raised her hands to her face, afraid of what she might find.

She breathed a small sigh of relief. Her probing fingers confirmed that her face was her own.

She let her eyes wander around the room, imagining the metal walls behind the blackness. Then, in her mind's eye, she envisioned her past: wandering the halls of an empty home, trapped behind a mask that even she couldn't love.

Which prison was worse?


	7. Masks II

**We now return to our regularly scheduled plot. I was worried that everyone would think the last chapter was boring and unnecessary. I'm glad to see that people enjoyed it – or at least the people who left reviews. I appreciate the input.**

**As you can see from the chapter titles, chapters six and seven are supposed to form a thematic whole. At least in my head :-)**

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Chapter 7 – Masks II

Azula was standing on her hands, and had been for quite some time. Ty Lee wasn't the only one with phenomenal strength, balance, and agility.

She breathed slowly, striving to maintain the demanding posture for as long as possible. Azula had no idea how they were blocking her firebending; therefore, she didn't know how to fix the problem. It was clear that she couldn't expect to bend her way out of this hell-hole. She would have to fight with her body and anything that chance and ingenuity might throw in her way.

Since meeting Doctor Soong and his patients, she had been practicing all the strength and endurance drills she could remember, as well as trying to invent new ones. It was an interesting problem to pass the time with, and to keep her mind off grimmer matters.

She told herself that she was being childish, but logic just wasn't helping: she was starting to feel a creeping horror of the dark, and it was getting stronger. She felt tense and wakeful all the time, and she constantly had that stretched, weary feeling that came from not sleeping enough. But if she wasn't sleeping, and she wasn't dreaming, then what were all those _things_ in her cell?

There was always something there. Often something from her past, only hideously distorted. And the visions were growing more and more intense, increasingly bizarre. Maybe she actually was dreaming, but in this eternal, lightless night the boundaries between nightmare and waking were becoming indistinguishable.

She couldn't shake the suspicion that -- maybe, if she were totally honest with herself, upon close inspection, perhaps to a certain extent just a little bit -- she still wasn't _quite right_.

_But I'm not crazy_, she reminded herself. _I am not_. She _would_ regain control – both of herself and this situation.

Azula's arms started to shake and her breath came in sharp, quick gasps. Suddenly her strength gave out and she toppled to the floor -- far sooner than she should have. She continued to lie there for some time afterwards, feeling spent and woozy. Apparently those weeks she had spent chained down, living like a crazed animal, had taken their toll. She also needed more food, and deep, dreamless sleep in a huge bed with lots of fluffy pillows and silk sheets -- with all of her bedroom lights on.

Nearby her mother peered down at her in silence, staring at her without emotion or recognition, looking at her like she was a stranger.

Azula whimpered softly. Why not? It's not like there was anyone there to hear her. She was alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone in the dark with her own ghosts and monsters, waiting for bad men to come and hurt her.

She was under no illusions. Until she found a way to escape, she was going to have a hard time of it.

Azula cocked her head, listening. Were those booted feet she heard, or was this another figment of her imagination? When she confirmed that, yes, they were coming for her, she almost groaned. She just wasn't in the mood right now.

Still, appearances had to be maintained. Azula dragged herself to her feet and made herself presentable: spine straight, shoulders back, chin up, hand on the hip, eyes hard and challenging. She decided that today she would question Kwan Yu's manhood. Men always hated that.

When he stepped through the door, she pointedly looked at the soldiers behind him. "Hello. I see you've brought your bodyguards again. Afraid to face me alone, or do you just like it when strong men cover your backside?"

He patted her stubbly head, as if she were the family dog. "Bless you, little one, you try so hard. But that was pathetic. Never mock or threaten from a position of weakness, it looks ridiculous. Now hold out your hands. I need to cuff you."

Apparently Kwan Yu was secure in his masculinity. What's more, he was right: that had been sad and pathetic. Azula obeyed in silence.

When the hood came off, she saw Doctor Soong smiling genially at her. His shoulders, however, were tense. Apparently she had made him a little uncomfortable. Good.

Before he could say anything, she greeted him pleasantly. "Hello, Doctor. I hope you've been well. Have you thought about what we discussed last time?"

The smile slipped, and his reply was sharp. "Of course I haven't thought about it. Everyone knows better than to trust you."

"I see that Kwan Yu talked some sense into you."

"Kwan Yu had nothing to do with it! I assure you, I'm wise to your tricks. People with mental problems often think they're more clever than they are."

He was getting defensive. Apparently she had read the situation correctly.

"It's just that you seemed so interested the other day. I thought we were going to reach some sort of agreement, but then Kwan Yu interrupted. Silly me. I thought he took his orders from you."

"Indeed he does! That was pre-arranged. We were acting in perfect agreement."

"Indeed you were! You two planned that so well, that I've never seen a more convincing show of disrespect and insubordination."

"What you think is irrelevant. We're dropping this subject. It's time to talk about you."

"But-"

Kwan Yu interrupted. "He said 'drop it', Princess."

Azula lowered her head submissively. "Yes, Kwan Yu, Sir". She glanced up at Doctor Soong through her eyelashes. The good doctor was vastly irritated. This was easy – and fun.

"Now," he said, "the first step to recovery is self-knowledge. I'm going to ask you some questions, Azula, and together we're going to take a close look at your life to see where you went wrong." He flipped through some notes in his hand. "First, tell me about your medication."

Azula tensed reflexively. "_What_?"

"The royal physician told me that you took poppy tears to help you sleep. You used them for years, but you stopped asking for refills a few weeks before the comet. Why?"

"Clearly I didn't need it. I was sleeping fine on my own." The muscles in Azula's back had knotted into rock-hard bunches, and sweat prickled her scalp.

"Odd. Sleeplessness is common for people who…Well, for people in your condition. Let's try this. Why did you cut your hair?"

Azula relaxed fractionally. The danger seemed to have passed. "Because it needed to be cut."

"Why not have the servants do it?"

"They were gone."

"And why were they gone, Azula?"

She set her jaw. If he was hoping for an emotional outburst, he wasn't going to get it. She was Princess of the Fire Nation, and she refused to be jerked around by this nobody. "That's none of your concern. Peasants have nothing to do with palace affairs."

"They say you're an astute judge of character, and that you always reward talent -- regardless of rank. Do you really see people as peasants, or do you just say so as a defense mechanism?"

"I _am_ a good judge of character. I call people 'peasants' when I judge that they display stupidity and ill-breeding." Azula stared hard at the doctor.

"How did you feel when your father left you behind on the day of the comet?"

A sudden and massive surge of grief welled up and closed her throat. For a few moments Azula couldn't speak.

Doctor Soong ploughed on. "The title had become pointless, and he didn't even stay to watch your coronation. How did that feel?"

"I… I felt nothing one way or the other. Why should I? It was a perfectly logical arrangement."

"Come now, Azula. Many of our patients were born with a sickness of the mind. They can't help the way they are. But you…you are a different case altogether. You were obviously in control until a very short time ago. You wouldn't have broken down like that if you weren't upset."

"Even if I was upset, you have no right to ask me about personal matters."

"I know you resent me, and that you resent being here. But I'm your friend. You might not realize it, but I'm more sympathetic to you than your own family is. I believe that you broke down for a reason, that you can get better, and that you deserve this second chance."

"And my family doesn't?" Azula already knew the answer to that. Doctor Soong thought he was hurting her, but she had realized long ago that she wasn't wanted. It was old news.

"Your brother and uncle told me that you're vicious, selfish, and manipulative, that you've been abnormal and unbalanced since birth. They think that you revel in senseless violence. You inflict pain for fun. You're a pathological liar. You don't feel anything -- except sick pleasure at the expense of others. You're clever, but too shallow to see how foul you are. They say they're not surprised by your behavior at the coronation: once you got what you wanted, your natural tendencies erupted. The monster was free to play."

'The monster'? Had Zuko told them what she said at Ember Island? She hadn't told anybody what Zuko said, or even teased him about it. Not once! How could he throw it back in her face like this?

The rest of it finally sank in. Was that really what they thought of her? They didn't see anything else? Her talent? Her dedication to excellence? Her loyalty…no, her _love_ for her homeland? The hard work? The sacrifice?

The old hopelessness welled up again, pressed against the inside of her eyes and threatened to spill out. Azula blinked a few times so that the treacherous moisture wouldn't escape and slide down her cheeks. It had always been like this. She tried and tried to be the best that she could be, to deserve the trust placed in her family, to be worthy of her heritage. But – except for her father – no one really understood.

That was the problem with Zuko and her mother and uncle, and most of humanity. They didn't realize that hard choices had to be made, appearances maintained, and control imposed with an iron fist. Those who did realize, and who did what had to be done – they were rulers by right.

Azula knew. And that's why she had to be Firelord instead of Zuko. Every moment of her life, she had worked to build up the calluses, to make her skin a little bit thicker-- so that one day she could be the hard hand that turned the world. In his shortsightedness, Zuko had seen only the cruelty, never the necessity. Her mother was the same way. Like everyone else, she had looked at Azula with hate and fear, as if…

…as if she would actually hurt her own mother.

…as if she enjoyed causing pain and terror.

Because it was _fun_ to be an outcast and a freak.

And it was _fun_ to bribe and intimidate the two people she respected most, so that they would pretend to be her friends.

She _loved_ living her life on a stage – acting like she was completely inhuman, as though she had no feelings, no pain.

And it was _not_ painful to see her mother looking at her like that, as if…

…as if she was what she pretended to be.

Locked away in the darkness, Azula had had time to consider her entire life several times over, and it was a life full of secret shame and misery. But – with one exception -- Azula didn't regret a single choice. You had to pay a price for greatness, for a spot in the history books. If she hadn't been willing to pay that price, she would have betrayed both her ancestors and herself.

They all thought she was a monster, that she was something less than human; in truth, she had always tried to be more than human.

_You're wrong_, she thought. _All of you are wrong,_ _and that's why I don't need you_.

"Who's wrong?"

Doctor Soong's voice snapped Azula back to reality. Spirits! She had completely forgotten where she was. How long had she been spaced out, and _how much had she said out loud_?

"I said, 'Who's wrong?'. Do you mean your brother and uncle?"

Azula's thoughts were her own, and they would stay that way. Let the worm think what he would: his opinion of her couldn't possibly be worse than everybody else's.

"No, actually, they're quite right. I'm hopelessly evil. If you don't believe me now, you will when I kill you. I'm going to string you up and vivisect you." She paused, then added condescendingly, "You do know what 'vivisect' means, don't you peasant?"

Doctor Soong just flashed his creepy smile again. "Well, this has been unproductive. Maybe I should have explained at the beginning. Our sessions will have one rule: you will answer all of my questions truthfully and to the best of your ability. I don't think you did that today. Therefore you will be punished."

Azula rolled her eyes dramatically. "Of course. I'm sure it will be for my own good, and that you won't enjoy it."

"Exactly. I believe that everything we do here should be productive. This will be an excellent chance for you to face your fears."

His eyes flashed. Was that anticipation? He studied her face intently as he continued: "Now, on the day of the comet, you were finally defeated when you were encased in freezing water…"

*****

Azula thrashed wildly. At first, she had promised herself that she wouldn't: it was beneath her dignity . Although the mind was willing, the flesh weak. Her body had its own ideas.

What it wanted was air, and it struggled and bucked, twisted and turned, kicked and flailed until it was almost exhausted, until, finally – Sweet Agni! Finally! – the precious air filled its lungs once again.

Azula's head was lifted above the water for a few moments, barely enough time to draw a pair of shuddering breaths. Water blurred her vision and burned her sinuses. She choked and gagged on it, tasted it and her own bile at the same time.

Water dripped down her face and ran down her neck. It streamed from her scalp and soaked her shoulders. It plastered her sopping shirt to her chest and rained down to form puddles on the floor. It spewed up from drenched lungs and dribbled down her chin.

"Azula," said a calm voice. She knew it was right next to her, but it sounded a mile off. "Why won't you just admit that you misbehaved?"

The soldier forced her under again, and it was so _cold_. She couldn't see. She couldn't think. She could only panic, and in her terror she lashed out blindly, futilely. She did remember that she mustn't inhale, but -- Spirits help her! -- he was holding her down and she needed to breathe…

Up again, and the voice: "You are wrong."

She couldn't correct him, because the water slammed up to meet her again.

"You are disgusting."

Again.

"You are hated."

Again.

"You are feared."

Again.

"You are a monster."

Again.

"We can fix this."

Again.

"Listen to me…"

This time they gave her a chance to answer, and Azula took it.

"Wait! Wait…"

The soldier set her down, allowing her to sag, exhausted, against the edge of the vat. She shivered and stared down at the water, trying to collect her scrambled thoughts. They waited for her patiently.

The Doctor assumed that she was terrified. He had studied her life down to the last detail, as if it were a particularly important and interesting book, but he had misread the most important passage. He didn't realize that – of everything that happened on the day of the comet –the ending held the least pain.

Azula knew that there were worse things than drowning. She also knew that the most shattering and degrading defeats came from within, not from some girl who could do tricks with water.

_Fuck them_. Doctor Soong and his minions could dunk her all they wanted. They weren't hurting her. Not really. She could take it.

But first she would have a little fun. Why not? You had to take your joy where you could get it, and everyone expected the worst of her anyway. She would show them what a monster was capable of.

"Doctor…" Azula's voice was small and quavery. Doctor Soong came closer.

"Doctor…" Azula turned her head so that she could look straight at him. Her frozen, pinched lips barely moved when she spoke. He leaned a bit closer, eager to catch anything that might slip out.

"Doctor…Do you know what it feels like to drown?" The words were breathed more than spoken. He was so close now that they were almost kissing.

He hid his excitement badly. The pervert thought he was about to get a peak at something private. "No, I don't. Why don't you tell me Azula? How did it feel to drown?"

Quick as a snake, Azula slipped her shackled hands down over his head and shoulders. With a twist she threw their combined weight forward, pitching them both headfirst into the shallow vat.

Her tormenter was so shocked, that he didn't even struggle as she folded her powerful legs around his torso, trapping his arms against his body. That done, Azula gleefully applied herself to holding him down and throttling him.

Within moments, they were hauled bodily out of the tank. Within minutes, she was subdued and battered, but not before she had bloodied three soldiers.

Doctor Soong stood before her, wet, shivering, and very angry. "Just what the hell do you think you were doing?"

Azula laughed in his face delightedly. It felt good: she couldn't even remember the last time she had been genuinely amused. "Answering your question, Doctor. Now you know what it feels like to drown."

He slapped her powerfully across the face, then ordered his soldiers to take her back to her cell.

Azula thought that she had done quite well. A split lip and a few bruises were a small price to pay for a little respect: the next time they dunked her, they tied her to a plank first.


	8. Public Bathing

**Maybe it's a little repetitious to thank my reviewers every week, but every week someone new reviews. So to all of you whom I'm thanking for the first time: thank you! And to those faithful souls who review every chapter: thank you again!**

**I hope you all like Kwan Yu, because he just insisted that I write this chapter...**

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Chapter 8 – Public Bathing

As they carried her to yet another sugar-coated interrogation, Azula pondered her next performance.

They had deprived her of food and sleep. They had made her stand against a wall for hours while they drilled her with questions. They had dunked her in water over and over again, and inflicted a score of similar, petty psychological tortures. But she was hale and whole, and if they thought that such cheap tricks would make her say anything she didn't want to, they were sadly mistaken.

Sometimes they didn't say anything. They just stood there and stared at her staring back at them. Was she supposed to start babbling and spilling her guts out of sheer boredom? To pass the time, Azula had recited classical poetry. Because of their masks, she couldn't see their expressions, but she liked to think that they were awed by her perfect recall and the magnificence of her delivery.

When that got stale, she had started delivering her own poetry -- mostly haikus about her brother. She grinned, remembering one that she had made up at their last session:

_Whining mama's boy,_

_Zuzu, the would-be Firelord,_

_cries when he makes love_.

A bit lacking in poetic merit, perhaps, but hilarious. The men in the room had definitely twitched at that one. Azula snickered into Kwan Yu's shoulder and mentally composed a few more. It was really too easy.

When Kwan Yu set her down and pulled her hood off, she looked around in confusion. Maybe she wouldn't get to recite her poetry after all.

He knelt down and started removing her shackles. "They rest of you take a hike," he said absently. "Go wait in the hallway."

They hesitated. "Sir-"

Kwan Yu cut off his objection. "If she gets too rough with me, I promise I'll scream." As ever, he sounded deeply amused.

The soldiers filed obediently out of the room, leaving her alone with Kwan Yu.

She glanced around again. The room was chilly and sordid. There were showerheads on the wall and rusty drains in the floor. In the dismal, green light the mildew looked dull and black against the pale tiles, like streaks of dried blood.

Kwan Yu stood up again. Azula felt very tiny. Her stomach dropped, and suddenly she could feel the pulse in her throat. It was beating hard and fast.

He pulled something out of a bag at his side and offered it to her. She hesitated, imagined his massive hand snapping shut around her wrist. It was hard, but with a mighty effort of will she reached out and took the object calmly.

It was a bar of soap. She looked at him questioningly.

"Go on. Get washed up." He leaned against the edge of the doorway, which his gigantic frame filled up completely. She was trapped.

She stared dumbly at the bar of soap. This couldn't be happening.

"Believe me, Princess, you really need it. Whenever we have a session at the water tank, you smell like wet cat-dog."

"That's not my fault! You haven't given me a chance to wash!" Azula tried to sound angry, but she could feel her face turning red from shame.

"I know, I know. You're a very clean and tidy person. We were impressed when you first got here and right away figured out what your bucket was for. We knew then that we were dealing with a refined and genteel lady."

For once words failed her. Azula stood there tongue-tied for a few moments. Finally, she managed to force out an indignant, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Get the hell out!"

"Language, Princess. And I will not get out. I don't trust you. Someone's got to keep an eye on you."

"You disgusting, asinine-"

"There's no need to insult me. You're being rewarded for good behavior. We usually just hose people down."

"Good behavior?" Azula mulled that over. Apparently she hadn't been as difficult as she thought. She would have to try harder.

"I've decided to ignore your little stunt at the water tank. It was the funniest thing I've seen in months. Doctor Girly-man had his panties in a bunch for days." He paused, then added kindly: "But don't do it again. I promise you I won't find it funny the second time."

"At least turn around."

"And show you my back? Forget it. Look, I don't want your scrawny, little-girl body. You're safe enough as long as you behave. If it makes you feel better, you're safe around the doctor too. You're not to his taste. In fact, that's what the boy in cell five is for."

He caught the look on her face. "He's seventeen and pretty as a fire-lily."

"That's-"

"Spare me. He's not worth your outrage. The little twerp tortured his five-year-old sister to death.

Azula was silent. She didn't know what to say to that. She looked down and fiddled a bit with the soap.

"If being alone with me is making you nervous, I can tell my men to come in and they can watch too."

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to scream.

"Here. Is my mask scaring you? I'll take it off."

He did so. Now she had to look at his sarcastic, pitiless face. That made it worse, and he knew it.

"Seriously. You've stalled for long enough. Clean yourself, or I'll do it for you."

Azula looked at the looming presence in the doorway. The man was a mountain of strength and potential violence. She tried to imagine killing him where he stood, but in every scenario she just bounced off, like a doll thrown at a boulder. And then he would…

Slowly, she walked to the wall and turned on one of the shower heads.

"Do it right. Take your clothes off."

Azula turned her back to him and tried not to weep. She stepped out of her underwear and pulled the shift over her head.

The water was frigid. Of course. She washed as quickly as she could, careful not to even glance in his direction. He had said that he didn't want her, but she could feel his gaze creeping along her skin.

When she was done, she crossed her arms over her chest and peeked back at him over her shoulder. He was holding up a towel. If she wanted to catch it she would have to turn around and face him. Azula shuddered. She couldn't do it. She just couldn't.

"That's all right. I don't need the towel. I'll just put my clothes back on."

"No, those are dirty. You're going to dry yourself off and then you'll put on the clothes I give you."

"It's fine. These are fine." Azula reached down to pick up her old clothes, which were lying on the floor beside her.

"I said _no_. Don't you dare touch those. Straighten up and turn around."

Azula froze. Her hands started twitching uncontrollably. The threat in his voice was unmistakable – and utterly convincing. She took a deep breath, then did as he said, keeping one arm across her chest and extending the other to catch the towel.

"I'm not throwing it to you. Come here and take it."

She was already cornered. There was nowhere to run. If she tried to avoid him, she would just make herself ridiculous. Azula took a step towards him. Then another. And another…

Kwan Yu's aura of menace seemed to increase with physical proximity. They were close now. Too close! It was so hard to go on…another step…and Azula reached for the towel. It was just beyond her fingertips.

She looked up at him. His face was totally expressionless. He wasn't going to make this easy for her. She stepped a bit closer. She was now completely naked and standing within a foot of an armored man. Azula struggled to keep her breathing even. Once more, she reached for the towel. At the last moment, he jerked it out of reach and held it over his head.

She looked up at it. She would have to jump for it. Azula dropped her gaze and looked him in the eyes instead.

"I am the child of an ancient and noble house. I am the representative of Agni on earth, and an icon to the Firenation. I will not humiliate myself to satisfy the whim of a base and depraved peasant."

His cold brown eyes met her golden ones. "Well, I guess now we know where your limit is."

They stared at each other for a few more seconds before he smiled and broke the spell. "I wasn't going to give you the towel anyway. Lift your arms. I'll dry you off myself."

Azula put her hands over her head and willed herself not to shake. She gritted her teeth. It was either that, or they would chatter uncontrollably. "I'm going to kill you," she ground out. She had told him so before. She meant it then and she meant it now.

He started patting her down with the towel, briskly and efficiently. "Given your past history, you'll forgive me if I don't take you seriously."

That didn't make sense. Azula was momentarily distracted. "What do you mean?"

"I've seen your military record, and it pretty much confirmed what I already knew. You're all mouth and no play."

"What are you saying?"

"You try to be the scariest man on the planet, but you never follow through." Kwan Yu had finished with the towel. He pulled an outfit out of his bag and held it out. "Raise your hands higher. Straight up."

He deftly pulled the garment on over her head, then paused and admired his handiwork. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up, so that they locked eyes again. "Brave girl. You're not just another noble brat, are you?"

She shook her head free. "If you think I'm not capable of killing…"

"Oh, you're capable all right. You just don't." He continued thoughtfully. "It must have been hard. Those military blowhards didn't want to take orders from a little girl, did they? So you made more threats than a drunken sailor with something to prove, and you did it so well that they all believed you. For a while."

"But-"

"Still pretending that you don't know what I'm talking about? Did you really think that nobody would notice? Even when Admiral Shen attacked you, you just cut off his hand. You would have been within your rights to kill him. Everyone expected you to kill him.

"But you didn't kill him, and you didn't kill anybody else. You never even used torture. Eventually you got rid of your firebenders and ran around with those two friends of yours -- who were both specialists in non-lethal combat. At the Boiling Rock, they disobeyed direct orders from a member of the imperial house. The penalty for that is death, but they ended up in prison.

"Even when you went crazy, and you were at your worst, you never hurt anyone. You banished them instead. There was always an excuse, wasn't there? Some reason why it was more useful to keep everyone alive. Did you even realize what you were doing?

"Your brother and the Avatar were the exceptions. But those were special cases, weren't they? Especially your brother. I know obsession when I see it."

Kwan Yu paused and pulled something else out of his bag. He dangled the dainty pair of underwear on his finger. Azula snatched them away and skipped back a few steps, so she could put them on while standing as far away from him as possible.

"I don't know what you've heard about me, but you're completely wrong. My men knew better. They were terrified of me."

"They acted like it, anyway. Everyone knew that working for you was the fastest way to get a promotion. Besides, we all loved to watch you strut."

"You're wrong. Wrong! I'm dangerous, and sooner or later I'll find a chance to show you just how dangerous I am."

"I know you're dangerous. If the doctor weren't so damned stupid, he would listen to me and leave you locked in your cell. But he just can't leave you alone." Kwan Yu pitched his voice higher, until it almost squeaked: "You're _fascinating_."

Azula recognized the mocking imitation for what it was. "Then you don't care whether I answer his questions?"

"That's his business. My business is to keep you here and under control." Kwan Yu lifted her shackles. "Come on, I need to put these back on. We've taken too long. My men are probably thinking about running in to defend my virtue."

"Wait," she blurted out, "what have you done to my firebending?" Azula instantly despised herself. She hadn't meant to say that: it was an outburst prompted by weeks of pent-up stress and frustration. She could hear the edge of hysteria in her voice. No doubt he could too.

He cocked his head and studied her face. "Nothing."

"Liar! I can't firebend!"

"I know, but we didn't do that. You really don't have a clue, do you? Dear me, you must be worried. But I think I'll let the doctor field this question. I have to indulge him sometimes, or he gets difficult."

"I don't deserve this. I'm not a monster." Now she was pleading. How pathetic.

"No, Kid, you're not a monster. I know monsters. You'll be eating lunch with them tomorrow."


	9. Meet the Family

**Hello, all. I hope this finds you well. Poor Azula is about to have a close encounter of the creepy kind. Again. Good thing she knows how to make the best of a bad situation…**

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Chapter 9 – Meet the Family

"Don't show fear. Keep your arms and legs close to your body. Don't look anybody in the eye. Keep your voice down. And I know this will be hard for you, but don't get them worked up. No insults, no speeches, no plots. Nothing. Don't even try."

Azula peered through the open doorway, but from this angle she couldn't see much. She could hear voices though. It sounded like there were at least a dozen conversations going on at once.

Kwan Yu took her by the chin and forced her to look at him. He seemed to like doing that. "I'm serious. This is for your own protection. If you even think that somebody is about to make a grab for you, start yelling. We'll come for you. Don't try to get away, you might end up backing straight into somebody else."

She tried to shake his hand off and failed. Azula couldn't forgive herself for being afraid of him, and it made her angry. She glared straight into his eyes and hissed coldly. "Stop touching my face. There's no need for you to be such a drama queen. I can hear you just fine."

"Sure you can hear, Princess, but do you ever listen?" He turned her towards the door and placed a large hand firmly on each shoulder. "Remember, we're watching out for you. We're also watching you, so behave yourself. Now stay close to me as we walk through the room."

He didn't have to tell her again. Azula never would have believed it, but she was actually glad for Kwan Yu and the other soldiers. As they progressed slowly between the tables, the nearest inmates took the chance to whisper softly to her.

"Hello."

"Lovely girl."

"Here, look at me."

"Pretty lady, pretty eyes, weeps softly when she dies."

Great. They had a rhymer on their hands. Azula should have rolled her eyes and said something snide, but she was distracted by the others. They were saying vile things to her. _Vile_. Azula stared straight at the back of the soldier in front of her.

They steered her toward a circular table in the far corner. Around it were seated five men. One of the soldiers pulled out the sixth seat. Kwan Yu's arm swept out grandly.

"Here you are, Your Highness. A throne in front of all your adoring subjects." He leaned closer and dropped his voice. "Don't leave it, and don't forget what I said."

After she sat down, the soldiers withdrew. A little. Azula noticed that she was in the corner. Her back was against the wall, literally. Now they could only attack her from two sides. How thoughtful of Kwan Yu.

She turned her attention to her new messmates. Azula preferred to think of them as "future accomplices". Before she could really size them up, the man sitting opposite leaned forward and addressed her.

"Hail Princess Azula, Jewel of Our Nation. I had the privilege of meeting you once before, but I never hoped that I would be honored with a chance to talk to you, let alone dine with you."

She searched his face for any sign of sarcasm, found none. But Azula wasn't exactly reassured. His smile was full of teeth, and it never reached his eyes – which had a hard, metallic gleam, like polished bronze.

When she just looked at him blankly, he settled back and breathed a small, disappointed sigh. "I was at court two years ago, and we were introduced. But I don't suppose you remember."

A noble then. But not a very important one, apparently. Azula wouldn't have forgotten him if he actually mattered.

He continued without waiting for her to answer. "On behalf of all the fine, upstanding gentlemen residing here, let me welcome you to this lovely resort." He paused. Soldiers were placing bowls of food in front of them. Looking down into his own bowl mournfully, he murmured, "Today's menu: another delectable feast of soggy rice and stale vegetables."

He looked at her and tugged at his ear with a wistful expression. "Even in paradise- Well, one can get sick of things. Wish for a change."

_It starts_. He certainly hadn't wasted any time. Azula appreciated that. She rested her forehead on her hand and gazed down into her own bucket of slop. "I think I know what you mean."

It was a simple trick, an old game for even the youngest of noble children. In the covert and ruthless world of Fire Nation politics, sometimes you had to say a secret thing where anyone could hear it. It wasn't hard to veil your words. The key was using your body to mark which words were relevant.

"I'm glad to hear you say that. If I thought you were still enjoying your stay, I would have to question your sanity. We're a very civilized lot here in the second ring. No nutcases allowed." Once more, he flashed his wolfish grin.

"The second ring?"

"But wait, here I'm boasting about how gentle and refined we are, and we still haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Lady Killer."

"The Third." The big voice had boomed out from a corpulent, red-faced man. He fixed his beady eyes on Azula. When he spoke, his jowls jiggled wildly. "This sinner riots in his own vainglory. He revels in vanity and swells with false pride. He's a liar, a fornicator-"

"Yes, yes, we've heard it before." Lady Killer spoke sharply and looked harassed. He glanced at Azula. "This is Prophet-"

A third man broke in. "What Prophet means to say is, this big-mouthed prick is really Lady Killer the Third. He doesn't like to add 'the Third' 'cause he's full of bullshit."

"The Prophet does not need a small and impure man for his interpreter!" There was the fat man again – apparently talking about himself in the third person. How charming. "The word of the Prophet is full of truth and light. Hear the word and be-"

"Shut up." Azula could sense a tirade coming on and she didn't want to hear it. She also didn't want to hear them squabbling with each other like some perverse three-way married couple. Leveling her finger, she pointed at each one in turn. "The vain, mouthy one is called Lady Killer the Third. The fat, preachy man is Prophet. And what's your name?"

The man in question simply said "Lady Maker". Thank the spirits. It was irritating enough with two windbags at the table: at least one of these fools understood the value of silence.

Azula pointed at a man who hadn't spoken yet. "Who are you?"

Lady Killer answered for him. "Deaf…" He poked the man in the forehead. There was no reaction. "…and Dumb".

She looked at Deaf and Dumb closely. He was completely blank-faced, and his pupils were slightly ragged. His breathing was loud, shallow, and erratic, as if he was forgetting how to do even that on his own. He reminded her of people she had seen before, far away in a city of walls and secrets…

Azula went stiff. She had loathed and feared the Dai Li's special, little hobby. Above all, Azula valued her will, her intellect, her individuality and self-control. To strip someone of these things seemed to her the ultimate abomination. The Dai Li had deprived their victims of what made them human. Was the same perversion happening here and now, under the supervision of Doctor Soong?

"What's wrong with him?" Azula hoped she was wrong.

Lady Killer answered in a low, somber voice: "His treatment progressed to the third level. I don't know exactly what goes on at the third level, and I don't want to know. Neither do you. If you don't want to get there, then don't answer the Doctor's questions. As long as you're still interesting to him, as long as there's still something he wants to know, he won't…he won't do this."

"Are there others?"

"Not this bad. Deaf and Dumb was the first – a botched experiment, I take it. No one even remembers his real name anymore, or why he's here."

They were all silent for a few moments. Azula finally tore her eyes away from the hollow shell that had once been a human being. She looked instead at the last of the five men.

"And you are…?"

He smiled sadly. "Innocent."

She opened her mouth to say something, thought again. Finally she settled on, "How did you get your names?" Azula thought she already knew.

As ever, Lady Killer was quick to answer. "Here, it's not who you are that matters, but what you are. Among our brothers, our brothers in spirit, we're free to reveal our true natures. Our new names reflect this.

"So…you're a lady killer? That's your true nature?"

"That's right. He kills ladies. Just like most of the turds in this shithole. We're already up to Lady Killer the Twenty-fourth."

"Not 'just like' the rest! We're each of us artists, working in a medium of infinite variety and subtly. I can't help it if mere words are incapable of expressing-"

Lady Maker shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever."

"Besides, they weren't ladies, exactly. More like, _girls_, really." Lady Killer glanced slyly at Azula from the corner of his eye.

Prophet took this as his cue: "I redeemed peddlers of sin. They were corruptors of the flesh, purveyors of perversion, degenerate succubae who mired souls in the filth of decadent debauchery. But I led them to the light…"

He was clearly happy to explain his own special brand of depravity. And to Azula's surprise, he did it well. His voice was clear and round-toned as a bell. It dropped to a thrilling whisper and rose to theatrical heights. He paused in all the right places and used all the proper gestures. The grandstanding did, however, obscure his point a bit. From what Azula could gather, he liked to rape and murder prostitutes. Apparently this was how he "enlightened" them.

Finally he slammed one meaty fist on the table to emphasize a point. Liquid sloshed over the sides of their cups.

"Damn it, Prophet! Every time! You _know_ the table is wobbly."

"Besides, you can roar all you want, Fatty. We all know you only did it 'cause you got off on it."

Prophet glared at Lady Maker murderously. _The truth hurts_, thought Azula. His face turned scarlet and he seemed to have a hard time speaking. If they were lucky, he would die of a heart attack.

Lady Maker laughed with his mouth wide open, which was unfortunate because it was full of rice. He took a swig from his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That shuts him up every time. Someday the porker will explode." He laughed again.

Finally he said, "I guess you're wondering about me." Azula really wasn't. "The bosses hired me to teach punks a lesson. I used to geld 'em, didn't I? That means I made 'em ladies. Get it?" He forgot about her and continued to shovel food in his mouth with his blunt, square fingers.

She did get it. It didn't surprise her that he was a street tough. Tattoos covered his neck and arms, and hard lines were chiseled into his face. Despite his haggard appearance, he clearly possessed a supple, powerful physique. Azula guessed that he was much younger than he looked.

"So, what's _your_ story?" Lady Killer leaned forward in anticipation.

Azula made sure that her voice could freeze lava. "There is no story. And even if there were, it wouldn't be any of your business."

"I see, you're a shy one. That's all right -- we can wait. Everyone here has a story. And everyone tells it, eventually. But until then what should we call you?"

In the ensuing silence, Azula shot a look at Innocent. He hadn't told his story. She was willing to bet that his was the most interesting.

"I know." Lady Killer chirped brightly, as if it had just occurred to him. "We'll call you…'Lady'." Lady Killer smiled.

Azula refused to be baited. She had intelligence to gather, escape plans to hatch, and assholes to kill. She wouldn't be distracted just because she felt…_uncomfortable_.

"Then everyone here is some sort of criminal?"

"Not 'some' sort. A very specific sort: killers and perpetrators of extreme violence.

"Why isn't this place like other prisons?"

"They really haven't told you anything, have they? This is the maximum security wing of the Doctor's little funhouse. We're currently sitting some distance below ground level. Above us is the facility's public face, where the crazies are harmless and they're actually treated as patients. I hear they do good work , but then Doctor Soong has a team of real doctors working for him up there. While they actually practice medicine, he spends his time down here with us, and calls it research.

"We're his dirty, little secret. And it stays secret because no one ever asks. No one cares – of course they don't. We're not exactly a lovable bunch. If the authorities hadn't handed us over to the Doctor, each one of us would have been executed."

"You seem to know a lot. Apparently I'm getting the special treatment. They won't tell me a thing, and I'm on such a short leash that I can't even turn my head without getting reeled in."

Lady Killer was touching his face again. This time he was pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're not missing too much. Though there are a few interesting things. Very thought-provoking."

Azula scratched an imaginary itch on her cheek. _Message received_. But if Lady Killer knew how to escape, why was he still here? What did he need her for?

Lady Killer went on blithely. "In fact, you're the most interesting thing to turn up in quite a while. We're all dying to know how you're getting on with Kwan Yu. He's the second most interesting thing in this dismal pit. Isn't he fascinating?"

"That's one way to put it." Azula spoke through stiff lips. Just hearing the bastard's name made her blood boil.

"That's actually how I know so much about the facility. He and I chat sometimes. We knew each other in the old days. In fact, we both served under your uncle at the siege of Ba Sing Se. I was a cavalry officer and Kwan Yu was the Interrogations Master. And what a master he was, too. None better. We had certain shared interests, so we got along quite well."

Lady Killer sounded downright nostalgic. Azula couldn't decide if their friendship reflected worse on Kwan Yu or on Lady Killer.

She was tempted to say so, but Lady Killer evidently had something more important to get out. He was running a hand idly along his shaved scalp. "That man is one of the most competent human beings I've ever met. This whole place marches to his tune, and it never skips a beat. There's never been a break out or a death – unless he was the one doing the killing. One of the inmates managed to break his nose once. Kwan Yu took offence, and it was three weeks before he finally decided to stop playing with the poor wretch and put him out of his misery. It's more than my life is worth to try messing with him."

So that was it. Lady Killer needed her to get rid of Kwan Yu. He would do everything, all she had to do was incur all the risk and brave all the danger. But that was all right with her. As far as she was concerned, Kwan Yu had made himself her special target at their very first meeting.

Azula rubbed her nose. "I see what you mean. That would be a truly royal feat of daring."

Lady Killer beamed at her. "Although, he might let _you_ mess with him a bit. He seems to like you."

"Hardly."

"Of course he does. You see the scars on our faces. We all got these at our initiations. You should have been marked too, but you weren't. I think he just couldn't bring himself to do it."

A crisp military voice called out from across the room: "Lunch time is over. You will remain seated until you are escorted back to your cells."

Lady Killer glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to Azula. He leaned forward and slowly extended one arm. Azula held absolutely still: she refused to flinch. His reaching fingers just barely grazed her cheek, lingered caressingly.

"Silly, lovely girl. He likes your face."

The man in question suddenly appeared behind Lady Killer, slammed his torso against the table and held him there. "Maggot, what did I tell you?"

Lady Killer squirmed a bit, like a bug pinned to a piece of paper. "I remember. I was just…uh…complimenting the lady on-"

Kwan Yu twisted his arm up and back. Lady Killer shrieked.

"What did I tell you, maggot?"

"No touching! You said 'no touching'. I'm sorry…I wasn't…oh, please…" Lady Killer was whimpering pitifully. So much for being best buddies with Kwan Yu.

Kwan Yu let him go. When Lady Killer sat up, his face was ashen. "Please…I'm not going to be punished, am I?"

"Of course you are." Kwan Yu's voice was absolutely silky. It sent a shiver up Azula's spine. He placed his hands on Lady Killer's shoulders and gave a little shake, as if showing him a friendly gesture of affection. It made Lady Killer's entire body rattle and his teeth knock together.

"You made a mistake. You don't want to make any more mistakes, do you?"

"No. No."

"Then we'll make sure you don't."

Kwan Yu finally walked away. No wonder he talked to Lady Killer so freely. Lady Killer would never dare to step out of line with Kwan Yu around.

Lady Killer was cowed, however, not broken. Before the soldiers took her away, Azula and Lady Killer locked gazes. His eyes were smoldering with slow-burning fury. He might be a cowardly noble, but he was still a noble. And in the Fire Nation, nobles always took care of their debts -- whether paying or collecting.

At that moment, they understood each other perfectly. A promise was made, a silent vow sworn before the gods: they would exact their dues in blood, starting with Kwan Yu.

Azula just had to figure out how to do it.


	10. An Old Friend

**As always, I have no announcements, but I would like to express my continued appreciation to all those who review or e-mail. I've never written fiction before, so it warms my heart to know that my first attempt isn't an epic failure (at least so far).**

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Chapter 10 – An Old Friend

"What have you done to my firebending?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what happened? Why didn't you ask before?"

"I didn't think you'd answer."

"Why now?"

"I finally asked Kwan Yu, and he told me to ask you."

"Why did you ask Kwan Yu and not me?"

Azula couldn't resist. "Isn't he the man in charge?"

Doctor Soong's left eyelid twitched. "You know better. I don't know why you bother to say things like that. They don't affect me at all." His clenched jaw proved otherwise.

"But I don't know better, Doctor. Kwan Yu just has such a commanding aura. And he certainly acts like he's in charge. I think it's natural to assume that-"

"I don't see that at all." There were two spots of color in the Doctor's pale cheeks, and his voice was higher than before – positively squeaky, in fact.

"Maybe you're right. He did tell me to ask you, after all." Azula could have kept this up all day, but she wanted her answer. Besides, she hated to give Kwan Yu too much satisfaction. He was probably laughing behind his mask.

Her answer was supposed to soothe the Doctor, and it had the desired effect. Suddenly he was all business. His gaze turned keen, avid. He probably thought that he was being perceptive and thoughtful. Azula had noticed that he looked like that when he was about to say something especially hurtful.

"It's not a secret: we just thought you remembered. The Avatar took your bending. Permanently."

Azula laughed. "I knew you wouldn't tell me. You should have come up with a better lie."

"What makes you think that I'm lying?"

"I run in exalted circles, Doctor. I've met the Avatar. Clearly you haven't, if you think that he would violate somebody like that."

"Violate?"

"What else would you call it if somebody reached inside another person and mutilated their spirit? The spirit is a person's essence, their most private and permanent possession. It's the one thing that nobody else can touch or hurt. Ever. You're accusing the Avatar of doing something more horrible than your pet rapists ever dreamed of – which is why your lie is completely implausible. I doubt the Avatar would inconvenience a turtle-slug. Not without profuse apologies, anyway.

"That's one perspective. Apparently the Avatar felt differently about the matter."

"Go ahead. Stick to your clumsy and misinformed story. Maybe someday I'll be stupid enough to believe it."

"Fascinating. You're in complete denial. This is clearly an issue we'll have to address. One of many issues." He glanced down at the notes in his hand. "Since I've answered a question for you, will you answer one for me? Honestly?"

"Depends on the question."

"What is it that you think about when you're all alone? You've had plenty of time to think lately."

_There's the understatement of the year_. "I meditate, exercise, and plot bloody revenge. I also devise Pai Sho strategies, ponder theoretical mathematics, and compose lyric poetry in the style of Lao Min."

This was mostly true. She decided not to mention the slate-faced, serpent-eyed child, whose long dark hair dripped with blood. It looked just like Azula, and mocked her hideously. This was only the latest vision, the most recent ghoul in a long, merciless haunting.

The Doctor looked doubtful. Or maybe he just didn't know who Lao Min was. Azula decided to be helpful for once: "Lao Min was an archaic poet who played a pivotal role in the development of Fire Nation literature. He-"

"I know who Lao Min was!" _He's lying_, thought Azula. "But that's beside the point. I'm concerned that you're not using this opportunity wisely. You should be thinking about yourself, about your past, present, and future. But obviously you refuse to deal with your problems, even when you're alone.

"I've completed my initial evaluation, and I've concluded that you're still dangerous and unstable. However, I've been unable to properly assess your breakdown, because I don't know enough about your life before the breakdown. I've therefore decided that we need to explore your entire life together, starting from your earliest childhood. We'll begin now.

"So tell me, were your parents disappointed that you weren't a boy?"

Azula's skin crawled. Doctor Soong might not be brilliant, but he did possess a certain, low cunning. Somehow he always knew where to strike.

She managed to evade that question, and the next one, and the next…each one more intrusive than the last.

Did _you_ ever wish you were a boy?

How did your parents get along?

Did either of your parents have a favorite child?

Did you have many friends?

Did you ever feel like they were your friends just because of your rank?

Do you know what happened to your mother?

Do you wish she had taken you with her?

After your mother left, did your father have relationships with other women?

Your father was a busy man. Who took care of you after your mother left?

How did you feel when your father burned your brother?

Were you ever afraid that he would do the same to you?

Did you ever feel like you were under pressure?

Is that why you couldn't sleep well?

How did you feel when your uncle went away with your brother, and left you alone with your father?

How do you feel about the fact that nobody has come here to visit you?

Around and around they went in an aimless, convoluted verbal dance – the Doctor leading and Azula neatly sidestepping. He wanted answers and she wanted it to end. Neither got what they wanted.

Finally the Doctor gave a long, drawn-out sigh. "I was afraid of this. Patients are often reluctant to delve into their deepest pasts and most painful secrets. It's my job to help break down that resistance. Often that process is personally painful…" here he paused to smile at her, "…but ultimately worthwhile. I'm sorry. I really am. But we really must escalate your treatment to the second level."

Kwan Yu stepped forward and unfastened something from his belt. Its long, snaky length unwound and slithered to the floor. It was a whip.

_Lord Agni, No_! Azula stared at the whip, disbelieving. Did Zuko hate her so much? Had he really given them permission to brutalize and demean royal blood? Even if he loathed her, surely he should have more respect for their shared inheritance?

"Let's try this again, Azula. Now you see that there will be consequences if you don't cooperate. So tell me, how did your parents get along?"

_Don't answer the Doctor's questions_. Lady Killer's warning echoed through her head.

Azula looked straight at the Doctor with serious eyes, and used her most solemn voice: "They adored each other. In fact, they loved to dance together more than anything else, and they did it so beautifully that they went semi-professional. Every night they would dance the tango for admiring audiences. For festival appearances, my father would sing the national anthem while performing an original dance number. He sang like an angel, and always wore a pink leotard with polka-dot too-too."

Azula smiled at the thought. The Doctor smiled too, though for a different reason. "Very well. We'll do this the hard way. Kwan Yu?"

Kwan Yu pointed at two of his soldiers. They turned around and started to drag something that had been hidden behind them. It was a set of wooden stocks. Once they had hauled it to the middle of the room, they removed her arm shackles and forced her to kneel. The top swung up. Her neck and wrists were settled into semi-circular depressions, then the top swung back down, locking into place. She was now completely immobilized.

They were undoing the buttons down her back. Azula bore it all in stunned silence. Everything seemed so unreal. This couldn't be happening.

Someone crouched down next to her head. It was the Doctor. "Last chance. Let's try another one." He paused, as if considering his next question. But when he finally spoke, she knew that he had been saving it all along for this exact moment.

"Did your father ever punish you, Azula?"

She was momentarily breathless, and her stomach clenched painfully, like somebody had punched her in the gut. For a long time Azula didn't say anything.

She couldn't spit on the Doctor, because she couldn't turn her head. Her eyes roamed around, searching for inspiration. Within her restricted field of vision, all she could see were soldiers – silent and pitiless witnesses to her humiliation. In the profound silence, she could hear the _scritch scritch_ as the man in the corner caught up with the conversation. He was always there, writing, recording every moment of their verbal battle of wills. Now he would chronicle the Doctor's triumph and her own helplessness.

"I might answer your question, Doctor, if you answer one for me. I know this turns you on. When you're all alone in your office, going over your interrogation records, do you jack off?"

Evidently he stood up, because his cold, angry voice came from somewhere above her head. "I can see we're not getting anywhere. I think it's time for Kwan Yu to exercise his talents."

Azula closed her eyes. _It's all right_. _It's all right_. There was no reason to panic. This would be unpleasant, and she would have a few scars, but they obviously wanted to keep her alive. She would get through this.

"Open your mouth, Princess."

She did so, and Kwan Yu put a hard piece of wood between her teeth. Azula automatically bit down.

As she waited for the blow to fall, Azula promised herself that she wouldn't make a sound. _Not a single fucking sound_. She wouldn't give them the pleasure.

_Any moment now_. Azula braced herself. In the eternal seconds of dreadful anticipation, she reflected that this would be good for her. Like anger, pain could be good, pain was useful. This would be a challenge in self-control, a way for her to test her endurance. She was no stranger to pain. In fact, she and pain were old acquaintances – practically best friends. Pain had helped her more than her so-called friends and family ever had…

"_Firebending is the most demanding of the bending arts, Azula. It requires great athleticism and stamina. Many firebenders look good when they're fresh, but a true master can perform even when he's exhausted. I think it's time to see whether you have the makings of a master."_

_Azula gazed up at her father worshipfully. She had already been training since dawn, and she was dripping with sweat. But she was always ready to work longer and to push harder -- especially for something this important. She told her father so. _

_He explained what she was supposed to do, and she dutifully attached the weights to her wrists and ankles. She strapped another one to her back, and took her place at the starting line. When her father said "go", she dropped to the ground and did twenty push-ups, then she was off and running. Three times she sprinted the length of the dusty arena. That done, she ploughed into a guard who was holding a pad. Although she dug in and pushed with all her might, he didn't budge an inch. Damn! How irritating! But she had to get going. Three more times she sprinted the arena, then the push-ups, then the sprints, then the guard, then the sprints…and on and on and on._

_Azula's legs burned, and her lungs felt like they were about to explode, but she refused to stop or slow down. She was the only little girl in the world special enough to train with the Firelord. The only __**person**__ in the world! She would prove to her father that she deserved it. _

_Finally her father called "done", and she ran to meet him in the center of the arena. He played the token opponent while she responded with all the appropriate moves. It was hard, but she set her jaw and concentrated fiercely. As ever, she was fluid, flawless._

_She completed the final block and came to a stop. Her father was staring at her feet. She looked down, and her mortification was extreme. Azula slid her left foot six inches to the left, where it belonged. Then she looked up. She knew what she would see, and she wasn't disappointed. Her father's face was hard and cold as stone._

"_Do it again."_

_Crack_. Kwan Yu finally struck. The blow had enough force behind it to rock her entire body forward. _Hurt_! _Oh, hurt_! Azula was so shocked by the intensity of the feeling, that she almost cried out and broke her promise in the very first moment. Almost.

_The harsh, noontide sun superheated the air, and heat lines wavered above the baked arena clay. Azula was baking too. Her legs were rubber, her mouth a bowl of sand. When she crouched low and rushed the guard, she didn't bother to wipe the ropey hair out of her face. She was already half-blinded by sweat. _

_But as she struck the guard, she howled her war cry, and it was strong and fierce. When her father called her, she ran to him with the eagerness and swiftness of a hunting hawk._

_Unfortunately, eagerness and fierceness weren't enough. They began sparring, and within seconds the unthinkable had happened: she tripped. Her father caught her and tossed her as far as he could throw her. Azula rolled and came up in a crouch – or tried to. Her legs collapsed beneath her and she hit the ground again._

"_This is very disappointing."_

_Azula knew what happened to disappointing children. They were burnt, disgraced, and sent away forever._

_She already had her hands beneath her, and her feet soon followed. "I'm doing it again."_

_Crack_. The second stroke. She wasn't surprised this time, but that didn't make it any better. How many lashes would they give her? How many could she take? As soon as she thought it, Azula gave her head a small shake. What a stupid question. She would take as many as she had to.

_Azula tasted copper. Her lip was badly split, but the blood provided welcome moisture for her parched mouth. At least the sweat was no longer in her eyes: her skin had turned hot and dry to the touch. She badly wanted to stop, just for a moment, so that she could throw up, or get a drink, or both. But she was afraid to ask._

_This time she stepped left when she should have stepped right, accidentally driving her face straight into her father's muscular forearm. Azula's entire backside hit the ground. Hard._

"_I don't see why we should continue. I expected better, Azula. Even your brother managed to do better, and he was using almost twice as much weight. He also knocked over the guard. Twice."_

_It was true. She had seen it herself. For all his shortcomings as a bender, nobody could deny that Zuko was ridiculously strong and athletic. Azula's proud heart swelled up in her chest, threatened to burst. She was already lurching blindly to her feet._

"_No. I'm fine."_

_Crack_. It actually felt worse with every stroke, as her back became torn and bloody. Azula clamped down hard on the wood in her mouth and stifled a scream. The key to great bending – and to any type of greatness – was to treat every moment of every task as if it was the most important thing you had ever done or would ever do. At this moment, Azula truly believed that her fate depended on keeping her silence.

_Not only did Azula fail to block the fiery fist, but she __**flinched**__. Her shaming was complete. Once again she was poured out on the ground, completely blown and tasting dirt. Once again she smelled the acrid scent of her own burnt clothing. Only this time she didn't get up._

_She heard footsteps by her head, but she didn't bother to look up. The world was spinning crazily around her. Something dropped to the ground near her hand. This time she tried very hard, and managed to focus. It was a beautiful, silver-handled dagger._

"_I'm done. If you won't learn from me, then I suggest you teach yourself a lesson you won't forget."_

_Azula understood immediately. With a mighty effort, she heaved herself to her knees. She picked up the knife and held it poised above her wrist._

"_How many, Sir?"_

"_However many it takes."_

_Crack_. There was the fourth. Her agony was acute. Tears started to pour down Azula's cheeks. She should have been embarrassed, but she didn't care. She was concentrating too hard to even notice.

_Azula bit her lip and thought carefully. This had to be good. It had to be impressive. She had screwed up badly._

_Once she made up her mind, she didn't hesitate. That would have been disastrous._

_Crack_. Now she would have her own awesome and impressive scars. The next time she saw her brother, they could compare, and have an argument about whose were more rugged and manly. Then she would kill him.

_When she had finished, there were three long lines carved in her forearm from wrist to elbow. Apparently her father was somewhat mollified, because he decided to give her another chance._

"_We'll do this again in a week. I expect you to be in fighting form by then."_

"_Thank you, Sir."_

_Crack_. She had lost count. How many more? How many more? How many…

_They __**did**__ try again a week later, and Azula __**was**__ in fighting form. She had learned her lesson: pain was the best teacher. It was the beginning of a life-long relationship._

As it happened, they were barely half-way through. After what seemed like an eternity of torment and silent struggle, Kwan Yu made an announcement.

"We're done. She's had enough."

"No. Keep going."

"Do you want her alive or not?"

"I've seen you do more." The Doctor sounded peevish.

"Those were full-grown men, not scrawny little girls."

The Doctor knelt down next to her head again. "It looks like we're done for the day, Azula. I hope this has been productive, and that next time you'll be a little more willing to share your thoughts with me."

She gathered the tattered remnants of her consciousness. If ever there was a time for bravado, this was it.

To her everlasting pride, her answer was coherent, if a bit halting: "Not a chance. I fucking loved it. Tell Kwan Yu to put his back into it next time."

"I'll be sure to do that."

The soldiers released her, then carried her back to her cell. They didn't even bother with the shackles and hood. Not that they needed to. Azula was too far gone to notice the drool on her chin, let alone her surroundings.

As she lay belly-down on the floor of her cell, Azula drifted in and out of a feverish, delirium-filled sleep. Every time, her addled brain plagued her with the same nightmare. She saw a kindly boy with soft eyes. Strangely, miraculously, those eyes started to glow, and he gently placed his cool hand on her heated forehead. For a moment she felt hope, but then the sweet-faced child ripped and tore and rent, so that her soul was as shredded and bloody as her back.

Eventually people came, and she wasn't sure whether they were real or not. One of them made some sort of movement, and suddenly his hands were glowing blue. Azula cried out and tried to crawl away, thinking of the glowing boy. But they held her down, and hands reached for her back this time, not her forehead.

Within minutes, the throbbing white-hot agony in her back faded to a burning itch, and Azula had her first coherent thought in hours.

_A waterbender_?

They left her after that. Finally she fell into a real sleep – a deep, black, dreamless sleep. When Kwan Yu woke her, she was thirsty and exhausted, but she had come back to herself.

"Time to go, Princess. You're scheduled for another session today."

As they shackled her, Azula was silent and passive. She would put up with this -- for now. But these depraved and foolish men were making a mistake. They thought they were going to break her. Azula knew the truth. She could feel herself growing hard and sharp. She would whet her fury on humiliation, and hone her strength with pain. They thought they were smashing something brittle and delicate; in reality, they were tempering steel. And when the time was right, she would strike straight and true as one of Master Piandao's swords.


	11. A Congress of Monsters

**Greetings, everyone. After the last chapter, somebody was wondering what genre I would place this story in. I take this as an indication that nobody is sure where I'm going with this. I actually couldn't decide which genre I should go with, since none of them quite fit. I was asked specifically if it was angst or tragedy. Angst is out – angst is a state of mind, one that I don't think Azula is capable of. As for tragedy…well, that depends on how it ends, and I'm not telling. If someone is feeling genuine anxiety on Azula's behalf, far be it from me to ruin the suspense. :-)**

**Also, I do apologize, but from now on the updates will be more sporadic. I'm out of chapters to post, and school is in session. Just so you know, this story will be finished. The rest of it has already been planned. There should be between six and eight more chapters. If Azula survives the experience, a sequel might be in order. If.**

* * *

Chapter 11 – A Congress of Monsters

Azula was very small again. The sun shone on her once more, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Why hadn't she realized before? The huge, clean sky stretched away endlessly in all directions. There was nothing here to trap her or hurt her. She was weightless, free. She wanted to leap along the shore and dance in the surf.

Nearby, her parents sat on the sand. Ozai didn't give his wife the look – the look that little Azula neither understood nor liked. And he didn't wrap his hand possessively around her arm to lead her away. And her mother didn't follow him in reluctant, sullen obedience, with her back all stiff and her face completely blank.

No, today they stayed and watched Zuko and Azula as they played. Their arms were twined together, and Ursa was resting her head on Ozai's chest.

Azula was oh-so-polite. "Zuzu, will you please help me make a sandcastle?"

He scowled at her ferociously. "You're so great at everything. Why don't you do it yourself?"

Now Azula was frowning too. Something turned all tight and twisty in her chest. "No," she muttered. "No. Not like that."

Concentrating fiercely, she asked again: "Zuzu, will you please help me make a sandcastle?"

"Of course." That was better. He bent to the task, doing it just for Azula. Just because she had asked.

Her savage heart relaxed into an uncharacteristic peace. For a moment, she was perfectly, transcendently happy.

Then the voice came. "Am I interrupting something?"

The voice was familiar, but it took her a few seconds to place it, because it didn't belong here in the bright, glad sunlight. The voice was dark and heavy with mockery. He was laughing at her very private fantasy.

It was time to leave. Azula couldn't bear to let it all go at once, so she banished the beloved phantoms one-by-one. If her eyes were damp, she told herself it was from the waves.

When she was done, she found herself staring at a bleak, metal wall. It was just inches from her nose. She was huddled in the corner of her cell, knees pulled up to her chest and arms wrapped around protectively. They had caught her by surprise.

"Don't let us rush you or anything. Take your time. I know you have lots of better things to do."

Azula didn't bother to answer. If the sarcastic quip was supposed to get a rise out of her, it wouldn't work. The endless cycle of torment and healing was taking its toll. Some days – usually during her "therapy sessions" – she felt hard and hot and wild, like she would breathe fire and give off sparks if only she could remember how. But then there were the black spaces in between, when exhaustion and loneliness battered her down relentlessly, leaving her crushed and listless.

Today she just wanted to go to the beach. But instead she was being dragged back to her bitter, hopeless reality. She tried to get herself worked up a bit, just enough so that she could turn around and stand. Failed.

"So it's one of those days, is it? Be careful, Princess. These moods of yours don't usually end well." Kwan Yu reached for her shoulder. She flinched and shrank into herself even more.

As ever, it didn't matter if she didn't want to be touched. Apparently these tall, proud soldiers – the heart and glory of the Fire Nation – didn't have anything better to do than manhandle and coerce a sick teenaged girl. They trussed her up like usual.

Kwan Yu settled her on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Princess. No session today. You're going to eat with all your nice little friends." That wasn't much better. Azula shuddered the length of her entire body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

For a while, she had tried to get some useful information out of her fellow inmates. Eventually she gave up. Now she mostly sat in silence as they talked over and over about the one thing that really interested them.

The first time they told her about their crimes, she actually felt a little light-headed. They gloated over their atrocities lovingly, caressingly, proudly recounting every single detail. But then they told her again, and again, and again…

Her horror had faded to a dull disgust. She suspected that their stories had lost vividness and meaning even for them. In their misery, they were desperately trying to take comfort from memories that had lost their potency -- like a picture which had been looked at too often, or a favorite book that had been read one-too-many times.

It was true: familiarity bred contempt. They had ruined their mystique. If one of them ever attacked her, she was convinced that she wouldn't be frightened. She would feel only embarrassment -- embarrassment for playing a part in such a sordid, pathetic, little drama.

Apparently they felt philosophical today. If they weren't describing _how_ they slaughtered innocent people, they were explaining _why_ it was all right. The conversation unfolded predictably. Or, at least, it was predictable if you had already heard it several times, like Azula had.

Prophet's hands were lifted in the air, his chin was tilted up and his eyes were closed. His blubbery face smoothed itself into a expression of grotesque ecstasy. "In all that I do, I serve The Light. The Light is higher than the highest peaks, greater than the greatest desires of men. It raises the lowly pauper and fells the mighty king-"

"Fatty, there ain't no fuckin' light."

Prophet flung his arm out and pointed straight at Lady Maker. "Infidel! The Light is all things. It hides Itself from the unworthy, but It has made Itself known to me. I am Its prophet."

"Oh, so it's your own special light, is it? Like Lord Agni's light? Where you stowing it? I don't see no fuckin' light. Not shining 'round your head, not beaming out your fingertips. Oh…wait. Is it up your ass? Is that where you're hiding it? Why don't you just bend over-"

One jiggly arm rose high into the air. They all saw what was coming and lifted their cups before the inevitable spilling could occur. With a mighty crash, Prophet's chubby fist connected with the table. "I have been touched by The Light-"

"It touches you, does it? Now I know why you like it so much…"

Prophet narrowed his eyes and licked his lips. When he spoke, he did so slowly and with awful weight, like he was making some dread pronouncement -- or a devastating attack. "The Light cannot be seen by earthly eyes, or felt with this crude flesh. The Light…is metaphorical."

That was new. Azula could tell that Prophet had finally managed to break Lady Maker's brain. Lady Maker opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound came out. How many long hours had Prophet's puny, porcine mind struggled and plotted before he came up with that one?

She stared hard into her bowl and tried to block out the obnoxious voices. At least she was feeling a little better now. Azula forced down another mouthful of food. She had no appetite whatsoever, but she had to keep her strength up.

Unfortunately, her mind worried at their words as if they were the pieces of a puzzle. Azula was good at puzzles, but she didn't always like them. Her overactive brain couldn't leave anything alone. It didn't matter whether the issue was trivial or earthshaking. If there were problems to be solved, connections to be made, or missing pieces to be found, her mind just had to follow the matter through to its logical conclusion.

She felt the familiar, insistent nagging right now. It had been there for a long time. The solution was important somehow, if she could just figure out what the problem was. Azula resisted though, tried desperately to think of something else. For some reason, she knew she wouldn't like the answer.

"All I'm saying," Lady Maker was saying, "is that you shouldn't pretend some all-mighty light is making you do things. There is no light. There's no nothing.

"When I was a kid, my older brother tried to rob a shop. Old man Hideo caught him and cut him up good with some rusty old sword he had lying around. Eiji got real sick, and it took a while, but he ended up dead.

"It was the middle of the city, and I didn't have no shovel or nothing anyway. So I dragged Eiji to the back of an ally and covered him up with some trash. I felt real bad, so I sort of checked up on him a couple of times, just to see if…well…I don't know. To make sure no one had bothered him, I guess. Within a couple of days there was worms crawling all over him. After a while, he was just gone, like he'd never been here at all.

"I knew right then that everything was mean and hard and cold. Wasn't nobody or nothing made me do what I did. I just figured, it don't matter. Because no matter what you do, or how long you live, one day we'll all be food for the worms. And then nothing."

Lady Killer smiled. "Gentlemen, I've said it before and I'll say it again: you're both men of direct and forceful vision. It's made your ideas a little narrow, a little extreme. With some subtlety, it's the easiest thing in the world to reconcile your two viewpoints. And I believe that – in this matter, as in others – compromise is the best solution.

"I don't believe there is a power higher than man. But to each man, his desires are a god. If you have the strength and the will to take what you want, why not obey your desires? As Lady Maker said, life is short and hard. And then nothing. The strong can at least make their lives worth living. So in the end, my victims did serve a higher purpose: my own pleasure."

"You got what you desired, but maybe your victims desired to live." It was a rare phenomenon, but Innocent had apparently decided to join the fray. Maybe he wasn't a murderer; nonetheless, Azula had quickly learned that he was a hard man. He looked like he was in an even worse mood than usual.

"I'm sure they did want to live, but they were too weak to defend themselves. That makes them fair game."

"Any one of them was worth ten of you, a hundred of you, a thousand! Lady Maker here was born to street violence, and Prophet is just crazy. But _you_, you evil son of a bitch-"

"Now, now, there's no reason to insult my mother. She was a very gracious and noble lady."

"Noble trash, just like you."

"That's just envy talking. Fire Nation aristocrats are the greatest, the strongest, the most worthy and deserving race alive. It's why we conquered the other nations. The world is my birthright – and that includes the lives of those girls."

"Uh-huh. Is that why you're locked up? Because anyone looking at you right now might think your birthright is a metal cage -- like any filthy beast."

For once Lady Killer didn't have a glib answer. He just glared at Innocent, who stared right back. Lady Killer wasn't the only canny old soldier at the table: Innocent was a military man himself. They were clearly sizing each other up like the trained killers they were.

Lady Killer broke eye contact first. He looked sulky, and sounded it too. "I think the Lady will back me up on this. What say you, Princess? Do I speak the truth or not?"

Azula was surprised. They had never asked her opinion before. What _did_ she think?

"Come on, don't be shy. You've heard our thoughts, now it's time for you to give back a little."

This was part of the puzzle, she realized. Azula didn't want to answer. She didn't even want to think about it.

"Of course, I know what you're going to say. We're both nobles. We understand each other perfectly. After all, who knows more about supremacy and privilege than the royal house?"

"There is no _we_. We're nothing alike."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Don't pretend you're too good for us," he snapped. "We're all in this together. Just tell us why you did it."

"Did what?"

"Whatever it was that landed you here."

Azula's head was beginning to pound. "That's none of your business. Don't give me orders, and don't presume to be my equal. You're as far beneath me as a worm is beneath a phoenix-hawk."

Innocent didn't like nobles, and that included her. "Well, there's your answer, Lady Killer. She's just like you…only worse."

"You don't know anything about me. None of you do."

"Why don't you enlighten us then?"

Azula was starting to feel desperate. "You're one to talk. You call yourself 'Innocent', but I still don't know why you're here."

"I'll tell if you tell."

"Fine. You go first." She didn't want to make a deal. She just wanted to leave. Hopefully he would take up the rest of their lunch time.

"Oh Agni!" Lady Killer rolled his eyes. He was almost as good at that as she was. "This is such a stupid story. You shouldn't have asked to hear it. You'll just laugh."

Innocent's eyes were savage. "Fine. If she does laugh, we'll have her true measure."

He took a deep breath, then started. His voice was steady, and he spoke clearly and concisely. Obviously he had told this story before. But Azula could hear the deep emotion under the practiced calm.

"I had a lover once. Her name was Azumi. She had a daughter named Eri. I was in the navy, and I had been gone for three months. The second we made home port, and I had permission to go ashore, I went straight to them.

"When I got to Azumi's place, I saw that the door was slightly ajar. I didn't think anything of it, except to assume that they were home. So I went right in. The first thing I saw was Eri. She was completely naked and tied to a chair. She was also dead. Eri was only six.

"They told me later that someone had forced her to drink water until she drowned from the inside. I didn't know that at the time. And I don't know why I did what I did next. It was stupid, and a little sick too, I guess. I suppose it was shock.

"It was just so obscene – Eri sitting there naked and violated and staring. All I could think was that I needed to get her dressed before anyone could see her like that. So I closed her eyes and untied her, then I went to the closet to get her some clothes. That's when I saw Azumi. She was lying tied up on the bed. He had stuffed some sort of rag in her mouth to gag her. She had choked to death on it.

"I pulled the rag out, and cut the ropes and laid her straight. Then I covered her with a sheet. After that, I took care of Eri. I washed her off, and I combed her hair and braided it, and tied it up with a yellow ribbon. Then I put on her favorite pink dress. I was putting on her shoes – they were red, I remember – when one of the neighbors came in to borrow some spark stones.

"There I was, handling the dead body. I was tried of course, but not just for two murders. There had been several child killings recently, and the townspeople were looking for a scapegoat. The judge was the local noble. He's the one I don't understand. I was at sea for the other murders, and I had witnesses who swore that I hadn't been ashore long enough to do what I was accused of. He found me guilty anyway. I guess it was just easier for him to blame the first suspect who came along. Although sometimes I wonder…

"Well, anyway, here I am. But I'm still glad I did it. When I got done, Eri looked like she was just sleeping."

Azula felt strange. There was pressure behind her eyes, and her throat was closed up. She was being strangled by some huge, intolerable emotion. From the mental chaos arose a strange and inexplicable thought: _My father never tied ribbons in my hair_.

In the silence that followed, the only thing that could be heard was Deaf and Dumb's erratic breathing. She wondered why Lady Killer hadn't made a snide comment yet, until she realized that they were all staring at her.

"Tears? In this place?" Innocent's voice was full of wonder.

Azula touched her cheek in bewilderment. It was wet.

Lady Killer looked irritated. Evidently he was disappointed that she wasn't a kindred spirit. "I don't know why you're so surprised, Innocent. Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'crying like a little girl'?"

"I'm not crying!" Azula hastily wiped her face with her sleeve.

"Fine. 'Weeping'. You're _weeping_ like a little girl."

"You ass. I am _not_ crying."

"Maybe not now. You were ten seconds ago."

Innocent cut them off. "Now, now, children. Behave yourselves. It's time for Azula to keep her promise. She has a story to tell us." They all looked at her expectantly.

"Uh…" Azula fumbled desperately for something to say. She began to sweat.

"Do promises mean nothing to you? I held up my end of the bargain."

"Y-yes…" She hid her hands under the table. They were starting to shake. "I…um…"

"We'll help you out. We'll ask questions, and you answer. Who did you kill?"

"No one."

Lady Killer raised an eyebrow skeptically. "But…?"

"I tried to."

"That's practically the same thing. I knew you were a killer."

"No! It was in the line of duty. That's different." _Isn't it_?

"You're a war criminal then."

"No. No! It wasn't like that."

"What was it like then? Who did you try to kill?"

Azula stared into her bowl of rice, as if it could tell her what to say. _I shot down a twelve-year-old boy, then congratulated myself because I didn't feel a thing_. Of course, she had had some chemical help with that.

"Who did you try to kill?"

Azula remained silent.

"Fine. At least tell us why you did it."

Why _had_ she done it? She thought that she used to know. At least, Azula couldn't remember being confused.

"Was it the Light?" Prophet whispered reverently.

Was that it – the greater good? Had she done it all for the Fire Nation?

"She don't want to talk. Why are you all hassling her? It don't matter why she did it. It don't even matter what she did." There was Lady Maker.

Perhaps that was the answer. Her father had ordered her to do things, and she had done them because it was safer -- and in the end it just didn't matter anyway.

"There's no reason to be ashamed, Honey. Why don't you just admit what we already know?" Lady Killer's voice was smooth as silk. "Everything you do, you do for yourself and no one else. You didn't commit any crimes, you just took what was rightfully yours."

Could he be right? Had that been her only goal in life: to work for her own advantage?

"Of course they were crimes, and you should be ashamed." Innocent glared fiercely at Lady Killer for a moment, then he turned that look on her. "I don't know what you did, but only one type of person ends up in this hellhole. Admit it: you're selfish, sadistic, and monstrous. You deserve to be here."

Azula squeezed her eyes shut. _I am not a monster_. Everyone kept telling her that she was, and she kept telling herself that they were lying. But it was hard. It didn't help that they sounded just like the voice in her head – the cold, implacable voice that always told her what she didn't want to hear.

Someone started to say something, but her voice lashed out like a whip. "Enough!" Azula hadn't used that tone of voice since she lived in the palace. But she was still the Princess, and she remembered even if the rest of the world had forgotten. "I will repay my debt to Innocent – when I choose to do so. Until then, no more questions. You will keep your silence regarding my affairs."

Azula had grown to hate questions. Her life depended on fending off the Doctor's endless questions. It was for questions that they abused and tormented her. Sometimes, when she was alone in her cell, she thought that disembodied voices were assaulting her with questions, and that blood gushed from her ears. Now, as she gazed at her current interrogators, her anger and hatred boiled over. Prophet and Lady Maker actually edged away from the table, trying to put more space between her and them.

Lady Killer was made of sterner stuff. He examined his nails calmly. "Fine. We've waited this long, I suppose we can wait a little longer." Azula knew that tone of voice. She braced herself for whatever petty revenge he was about to inflict. "But then what should we talk about?"

He glanced up and met her gaze straight on. Although he wasn't smiling, she could see the sly, gleeful look in his eyes. "I know. Let's ask Kwan Yu to join our little debate."

What was he angling at? "I don't see why. Killing in the line of duty isn't the same thing. I already said that."

He smiled gently at her. "Oh, I'm sure Kwan Yu has killed in the line of duty, but that's not what I'm talking about. Remember when I said that he and I had certain shared interests?"

Lady Killer paused again. Azula didn't rise to the bait. He went on blithely: "Well, we didn't mention it before because we didn't want you to worry. After all, there's nothing you can do about it…"

"Just spit it out."

"But since you won't contribute, and we need to kill some time…"

Azula skewered him with a look that promised death if he didn't get to the point.

"Kwan Yu used to be a patient here -- one of the very earliest. In fact, he was the original Lady Killer. Kwan Yu is Lady Killer the First."

Shock momentarily stole Azula's breath and left her speechless. Lady Killer looked smug, but her heart wasn't hammering for the reason he thought it was. Azula finally saw _It_. _The Way Out_.

"I told you he was an Interrogations Master. He knows the human body like no other man alive. I heard that he keeps his victims alive for days and days-"

Azula wasn't interested in the sordid details. "You idiot," she hissed. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

He tried to look casual and gave an exaggerated shrug. _What a ham_. "I told you, I didn't want you to worry. After all, you are just his type…"

Azula was fully awake now. It was time to swing into action. She set her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. "Doesn't that make everyone a little…_tense_?"

"Not really. He only likes pretty, young girls. We're all safe enough." Emphasis on the 'we'. Another sly glance at Azula.

_Fool_. She tugged at her ear thoughtfully. "I mean, he used to be just like us. And now see how he treats us. What makes him so special? Shouldn't that make everyone angry?"

Lady Killer finally caught on. He looked startled for a second, but managed to recover before anyone but Azula could notice. He ran his hand over his scalp. "It _is_ a bit maddening, but I don't think anyone would ever say that to his face."

"Still," she mused, stroking her chin, "I'm sure that everyone's seething on the inside. And sometimes things just boil over." _Come on, think_. Azula could feel the excitement building in her chest. This was it. _Come on_…

"I suppose." Lady Killer's answer was noncommittal, but she could tell that he had caught some of her urgency. Unfortunately, he still didn't know what she meant, and she couldn't explain any more clearly. Azula had already said too much.

Perhaps a demonstration…

She didn't have to work up her nerve. By the end of the meal, Azula could barely sit still in her seat. She suddenly had hope and purpose again. It was too much. It was like the stars and the sunlight, laughter and victory. She wanted to dance and sing, to run through the night and fight her way to glory.

She hadn't felt this good in ages. A gesture of magnificence was in definitely in order.

"Lunch time is over. You will remain seated until you are escorted back to your cells."

Into the brief silence that followed the soldier's announcement, Azula made her move. She leapt onto the table and scooped up her bowl of half-eaten rice. As she drew back her arm for the throw, the small, forgotten voice of sanity told her that she would regret this. Azula laughed and let fly.

The shackles made it hard, but her aim was perfect, like always. The bowl hit Kwan Yu square in the face. As he slowly removed his rice-covered mask and helmet, Azula kept laughing. It was bright and happy laughter. There wasn't another sound in the room. She had managed to appall even the hard-bitten rapist-killers.

Kwan Yu walked slowly towards her and stopped next to the table. Azula looked down at him smugly. She was finally taller than he was.

His face was totally expressionless. "I warned you. I told you that your little mood swing wouldn't end well."

He had failed to notice the cup she was holding down low by her side. Azula emptied its contents onto his face. As the liquid dripped down his cheeks and off his chin, he didn't so much as blink.

Azula smirked and folded her arms across her chest. "You look ridiculous and I have a good laugh. Seems like a happy ending to me."

"Oh, but we haven't gotten to the end yet." Kwan Yu's hand suddenly shot towards her.

Azula twisted out of the way and hopped to the opposite edge of the table. She opened her mouth to say something devastatingly witty – _Oh sarcasm, how I've missed you_ – when she was suddenly jerked backwards off the table and plunged into darkness.

She grinned into the black concealment of her hood and let the soldiers subdue her. Showtime was over for the day. She hoped her audience was properly appreciative. If they had any guts, they would be giving her a standing ovation.

Back in her cell, Kwan Yu draped his heavy hands over her shoulders and gave them a friendly little squeeze. He had turned her to face the shackles on the wall.

"Do you see these, Princess? You attacked my men, and I ignored it. You attacked Doctor Soong, and I ignored that. But I can't ignore this. You defied me in front of those animals. It's my job to keep them caged, and my job gets a lot harder if they don't respect me.

"I don't like using cuffs and chains. Prisoners don't last long in cuffs and chains. They start to bleed, and the wounds get infected, then I have to smell all that putrid, running pus. They develop ulcers, then I have to look at their repulsive, weeping sores. They lose muscles and get arthritis, then I have to carry them everywhere. They shit all over themselves, then I have to clean it up. They get sick and die, then I have to haul away the carcass.

"But you've crossed the line. I think I'll make an exception for you and give these a try."

They sat her down against the wall and locked her into the massive, ugly cuffs . When they let go of her wrists, Azula was so surprised at the weight that her arms dropped to the floor with a thud. The shackles were heavier than her limbs were.

"The rest of you weight outside. I need to have a private word with the Princess." As the other soldiers filed out, Kwan Yu crouched down in front of her.

He lit a fire in his hand, so she could see his face clearly. "Don't worry, Princess. I won't leave you in those forever. We'll be coming back for a session in two days. That should be enough time. It will be the worst two days of your life.

"Would you like to know why I'm not going to keep you chained up? Why I won't just let you rot away?"

"I don't question the motives of rabid rat-dogs."

He ignored her and continued. "You're a lot cuter than our other crazies. I enjoy looking at you. And I've grown to like you. I really have. If I weren't such a professional, I'd show you exactly how much I like you, little girl. But don't push me. I might change my mind and give in to temptation."

"Do you expect me to shake and cry and beg? I've met plenty of your kind in this hellhole. And you're all the same. You're not terrifying or even mildly spooky. You're just pathetic."

"Someone told you then. Is that what set you off?"

Azula smirked. "Not exactly." _If only you knew_.

"I overheard some of your conversation at lunchtime. Do you know why _I_ did it? Why I toyed with those girls, and hurt them and killed them slowly? It's the same reason I'm working here right now."

"I really wouldn't know what goes on in the heads of freaks and perverts. I'm sure you'll enlighten me."

"Huh. I thought you would know. I've always imagined that it feels the same way to make lightning. Do you remember what it felt like to shoot your enemies down? Do you remember the _power_?"

Azula did remember. She remembered the rush. She remembered how it felt to decide another's fate, when her own life seemed to be spinning out of control. The liberation. The _relief_.

Kwan Yu reached out and fondly tweaked her nose "You're in my power now, little one. And I don't want that to end. Not yet. You won't die until I feel good and ready. You're _mine_."

Her adrenalin-filled high was quickly evaporating. Azula was starting to feel a little shaky, but she would be damned if she let him see it. "Once again, why are you telling me this? I'm not impressed. In fact, that's why I threw the bowl at you."

"Why?"

"I hadn't practiced my aim in a while. I was afraid of getting rusty – more than I was afraid of you."

"Wrong choice, Princess. You should have feared me more."

One huge hand wrapped itself around her throat. Then Kwan Yu squeezed. She tried to strike him, but the shackles prevented her. She couldn't even thrash properly. Azula was completely helpless. Panic erupted in the pit of her stomach and spiked upwards, causing her heart to beat like a battle drum. But there was nothing she could do about it.

Her awareness had narrowed to pain and the need for air. Now she was seeing spots, and blackness hovered at the edges of her vision. Azula was sure she was about to die. She gathered herself for one final effort, and – as her last living act – she spit in his face.

Kwan Yu slammed her head against the wall, where it connected with a sickening _crack_. And again. And again.

Finally, miraculously, the pressure lifted. If Kwan Yu said anything before he left, she didn't hear it. Azula could only marvel that she was breathing again. By the time she became aware of her surroundings, she was alone in the dark.

_You should have feared me more_. Azula's head was lolling from side to side, and it ached fiercely, but she scarcely noticed. She was fixated on Kwan Yu's words.

_You should have feared me more_. She thought of Mai, glaring defiance at the Boiling Rock. And she thought of her own answer.

_You should have feared me more_. Despite her best efforts, the puzzle pieces were falling into place. The problem which had been bothering her for so long – and which she had tried to ignore – was finally solving itself.

Kwan Yu and Doctor Soong, Lady Killer, Prophet and every broken, useless soul in this lightless hell – they came to mind unbidden. She was forced to view them in a new light, and when she did, she saw them differently. She saw in them a reflection of herself.

Azula thought about how they hurt people who were weaker than them, how they gloated over it as though their atrocities made them special. She thought of their fear-mongering, their selfishness, their endless excuses, their lies and self-delusion. They so desperately wanted to be powerful, to be extraordinary, but they were small and petty. They were less than nothing. Every time she saw them, she was overwhelmed by contempt and revulsion, and bile rose in her throat.

A revelation was pressing on the edges of her consciousness, so hideous and enormous that she had trouble breathing, and her pulse was pounding erratically. As the full force of realization came crashing over her, Azula's heart skipped a beat altogether, and when it restarted, it beat differently forever.

_Dear gods, is that how everyone feels about me_?

For years, she had cultivated fear and violence. Since they were effective methods of control, it was a means to an end. But the image was also an end in itself: the leader of the Fire Nation had to be great and terrible.

It had never occurred to her that others didn't think of her that way. After all, she was afraid of her father, and he was the most magnificent human being in the Four Nations.

Mai looked at her as if she were worthless. So did her brother and uncle. And her own mother. Azula had never understood why, but now she did – with a knowledge like despair. She had gazed into a dark mirror, and what she saw was shabby and vulgar.

Azula had fought for glory, but instead she had made herself into something loathsome and tawdry.

Her mood plummeted, and dragged her newfound hope with it. From high as a kite, she hit rock bottom, and it was a long way down. The plan that had so excited her suddenly seemed farfetched and impossible. For the third time that day, Azula's eyes felt wet.

She tried to at least make herself comfortable – in vain. _Two days_? She already had to pee. Azula tried to stretch her legs out, but the chains extending to her ankles were too short. Then she tried to curl up on her side and lay down, but this time her wrist chains were too short. She wondered if Zuko had given them her measurements, just so they could make shackles that would inflict the greatest possible discomfort.

It was too much. No one was here to see, so she let the tears fall. She cried because she felt battered, small, and helpless. She cried because, when they came for her in two days, she would still be small and helpless, and she would smell like urine.

But mostly she cried because of what she had become. She was getting what she deserved. Now she knew that nobody worshipped or adored a monster. Monsters were sick, crawling things that had to be put down. The world didn't tremble at her name, it just hated her – and it was all her own doing.

Azula had finally learned the difference between fear and respect.


	12. Sweet Escape?

**Sorry that took so long. When school is in session, I really have only one evening a week to work on this – and sometimes not even that. Fortunately, spring break is starting in a week. I should be able to finish at least one new chapter during vacation.**

* * *

Chapter 12 – Sweet Escape?

Azula rolled over groggily. Something had woken her up. She opened her eyes, blinked a few times, then froze. Anyone else might have missed it. To her own eyes – so accustomed to darkness – the pale and sickly trace of green luminescence was bright as daylight.

Her cell door was open.

An electric surge of strength jolted her sleepy body into action . Quicker than thought, her limbs were humming with the rush and thrum of battle fervor. Azula was on her feet and moving before she could even wonder who had opened the door.

Out she slipped through the portal to freedom, and down long, empty corridors on silent feet – a dim, swift phantom gliding through a dark and uncanny place. The ceiling, walls, and floor were bare metal, with doors lining either side. The glowing crystals were too few and far between, and threw more shadows than light.

The hallway seemed endless. How big was this place? Azula tried one of the doors, and stepped through into yet another featureless corridor leading nowhere.

Now she was flinging open doors at random. The passageways became more gracious and reminded her of the palace, sporting gleaming, black floors and wall torches, or tapestries, or elegant, curving arches. But she still couldn't get out.

She wouldn't have thought it was possible, but somehow the crushing sense of urgency had increased. Faced with this maze, Azula was balanced on the ragged edge of panic, and slowly tipping towards meltdown.

She opened one last door…_oh please_…and suddenly she was in the throne room. The great wall of fire burned straight ahead, and a familiar silhouette was seated behind it.

Azula advanced to the proper distance and knelt down. Moments ticked by, and still the figure didn't say anything.

Were they coming for her? She felt an itch between her shoulder blades, a nagging, insistent compulsion that told her to leave this place, to flee before they dragged her back to a slow, hellish death.

Azula couldn't take it anymore, so she committed an unspeakable breach of etiquette and addressed him first. "Daddy," she said timidly, "have you come to take me home?"

The flames slowly lowered until they were extinguished completely. Her father stood up, stepped down off the dais, and walked towards her. His callous face was set into its usual cold, expressionless mask. When he spoke, he spoke the words with the greatest power to hurt her. Like always.

"I don't trouble myself over failures. I honored you above all others by entrusting you with my kingdom, and you let me down."

The familiar guilt and desolation sharpened from a dull, thudding ache to piercing pain, like she was feeling it for the first time all over again. But Azula was desperate, and for once she talked back.

"You shouldn't have left me alone. I'm only fourteen."

Her father was now standing right in front of her. He looked down at her kneeling form disdainfully, and kept on talking as if he hadn't heard her.

"You continue to disappoint. You know what you have to do. You should have done it a long time ago."

She started to say something, but he clamped his hand firmly over her mouth. "Silence," he commanded. Then her father pried open her jaws and began to force feed her mud.

When he was done with that, he wiped mud all over her face. From there he moved downwards. When he reached her breasts, Azula struggled weakly, but she was still choking and gagging on the foul-tasting slime. He easily flipped her over and pinned her to the ground by setting his knee in the small of her back. As she writhed and suffocated face-down in a pool of muck, her father ran hard, slick hands over her entire body and covered her in filth.

Eventually the pressure lifted. Azula rose sluggishly, looked about with vague, unseeing eyes. After a few dazed moments, she wandered aimlessly away on shaking legs. As she did so, she noticed that she was almost black with grime. _I need to wash my hands_. The thought bothered her for some reason.

Azula walked straight into a wall. She turned around in confusion and stumbled off into a different direction. Now her nose hurt. But it wasn't as bad as the mealy taste of grit in her mouth, or the sick, queasy discomfort rumbling deep in her guts.

Her feet kept going somehow, and carried her somewhere. At some point, Azula passed through an open door and finally stopped. Uncle Iroh was there. He looked the way she remembered him from her early childhood, before grief and self-indulgence made him soft. Massive shoulders hunched beneath his armor, and his arms were crushingly powerful. Even his neck bulged with the thick muscularity of a boar-bull.

And his eyes were sewed shut with black thread.

As usual the sight of him made her throat burn, as a red-hot spike of anger and annoyance flared up. It shook her out of her stupor, and the world around her suddenly snapped back into focus.

He was seated above her on a dais, behind a podium and gavel in-hand. To his left, a lone figure occupied the jury benches. The young Avatar's eyes and tattoos were glowing, casting the room in eerie blue light.

"Azula, daughter of Ozai," intoned Iroh, "You stand accused of crimes against humanity, and especially of cruelty against my nephew, Zuko."

"You're hardly in a position to judge me, Old Man. You gave up that right when you refused to fight for your throne. And you're not exactly impartial. I demand a retrial, with a more suitable presiding authority."

His eyelids wept ooze and pus around their dark, imprisoning thread. "You will stand trial before this court, and receive your due verdict and penalty. Justice is blind."

"Apparently," snapped Azula. "Because you wouldn't be so damned smug if you just looked in the mirror, _General _Iroh."

"You stand accused of crimes against humanity. How do you plead?"

Azula flung out her arm and leveled a damning finger at him. "I refuse to hear this from you. Who's hurt more people than the Dragon of the West?"

"How does the jury find the defendant?"

The Avatar's face was implacable and inhuman as that of a young god. "Guilty."

Iroh slammed his gavel on the podium. "You're crazy. You've got to go. This court sentences you to pain…"

The Avatar jumped down to the floor and started advancing towards her.

"…to humiliation…"

Azula backed up as he came closer.

"…to helplessness…"

Her back hit the wall.

"…to violation…"

There was nowhere to go, and now he was standing right in front of her.

"…to oblivion."

Azula looked straight into the Avatar's gleaming, soulless eyes. There was no mercy or wisdom there, or personal warmth. Only power.

"What right do you have?" she whispered. "No one asked for you. Nobody voted for you, or swore fealty to you. You're not a god or a king. And you're only twelve."

"The balance must be maintained." His voice was completely toneless, and had a slight, otherworldly echo.

Then he reached out and tore the clothing off her body. Azula fought with all her strength and skill, but who possessed more overwhelming force than the Avatar? She ended up huddled on the floor, trying to conceal her nakedness.

_Dear gods. What am I going to do_? She hid her face as best she could, completely overcome by fear mingled with shame.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Iroh answered. "You know what you have to do. You should have done it a long time ago."

Before she could think any further, somebody grabbed her by the hair and began to drag her away. Azula looked back the whole time at her Uncle and the Avatar. They watched calmly as she was carried off by a stranger to some unknown fate. Their faces were totally emotionless.

A wild fury took hold of her, and Azula shrieked her rage. "At least I took responsibility for my own actions! I met my enemies face-to-face. At the North Pole, did you look those men in the eye? Do you hear their screams at night? Do you ever think of them at all?"

Her captor rounded a corner, and they vanished from sight.

He let go, and Azula didn't even bother to look up. She just lay there, shivering miserably and clutching her stomach. The roiling mass of ingested dirt seemed to have a will of its own. She could feel it moving beneath her skin, and the queasy, cramping pain had become a tearing agony.

"Something bothering you, Princess?"

_Oh please, not now_. Azula closed her eyes and willed the wry, familiar voice to disappear. It was laughing at her pain, and promising more.

"Get over it and get up. It's time for a shower."

She opened her eyes a crack, saw that she was resting on squalid tiles. Azula sent another brief plea to whatever god would listen. _Oh please, not now_. Like all of her prayers, it went unanswered.

"Believe me, Princess, you really need it. I know two-copper whores who are less filthy and diseased than you." Azula struggled to her feet. Kwan Yu no longer pretended that he didn't enjoy her naked body. As his eyes licked her up and down, he murmured, "Not that I don't like it, but the smell…"

Suddenly he was all business again. "Wash up. If you won't redeem yourself, then _I_ will cleanse you of your sins."

For the first time, Azula noticed that he was wearing the robes of a Fire Sage. How dare he! Her hands curled into fists. "You don't have the right to absolve _anybody_ of their sins, let alone me."

"Do you really think so? After all you've done? And still haven't done? You know what you have to do. You should have done it a long time ago. Now wash yourself."

Like always, Azula felt like weeping. And like always, she waited until the water could hide her tears. She walked to the nearest shower head and turned the handle.

A heavy stroke to her back sent her spinning to the wall. Azula stared at Kwan Yu in shock as blood oozed from her newest lash mark. He was still standing on the other side of the room.

He smiled. "What? Did you think water would be enough? Your cleansing will be a baptism of blood."

She went reeling as another injury was inflicted, and another, and another. Ragged, oozing wounds rent her skin, bruises blossomed, and bones splintered as all the abuse of the past months erupted at once over every part her body. Azula wheeled this way and that as she staggered under the force of invisible blows.

She tried to escape her torment by running away, lurching wildly and blindly wheresoever her feet led her. But she carried the awful punishment with her. Finally one last hurt marred her leg, causing her to knock painfully against a wall. She dropped to one knee, picked herself up immediately. If she fell now, she would never get back up again.

Two more steps …Was it over? She stumbled through a doorway, and…

…she was back in her cell. Azula found that she wasn't surprised. It was inevitable really, like stones dropping to the ground.

Her brother was sitting there with his arms crossed, wearing the robes of the Firelord. It should have been ludicrous, but it wasn't. She felt chilled to the bone. There was an empty chair next to him.

Azula's hands were on her knees. She swayed slightly as she struggled to remain upright. It was almost too much effort to bear, but she managed to speak around the coppery liquid in her mouth.

"Zuko, how could you?" _I'm in pain_. "How could you send me here to rot away? I always challenged you in open battle. One, clean shot, and you would have been beyond suffering forever. Couldn't you have returned the favor? Don't I deserve the respect of a worthy foe? The death of an honorable warrior? Why didn't you execute me with your own blade?"

The corners of his mouth quirked upwards slightly. "I didn't put you anywhere, Azula. You got here all by yourself."

She tried to think of an answer, to understand how that could be true. Zuko started talking again, and now he looked downright smug. "There's only one way out of here. You know what you have to do. You should have done it a long time ago."

The nauseous, burning sickness in her vitals finally begged for release. Azula fell to all fours and started vomiting. She gagged around something long and fibrous, and the choking agony went on and on as great, wracking heaves shook her entire body.

When it was done at last, Azula saw that she had disgorged a rope. It was tied into a noose at the end.

She remained on her hands and knees, gazing at the drool and snot and tears which were dripping down to join the puddle of bile on the floor. She remembered that her entire body was slick with blood and filth.

_Oh gods_, Azula thought, _I'm so dirty_. But she knew what she had to do. She should have done it a long time ago.

Without fear, and without hesitation, she picked the rope up off the floor and threw the end over a hook in the ceiling. She stepped up onto the empty chair and tightened the noose around her neck. Then Azula kicked the chair away.

Her neck didn't break – the end of her life had to match the rest of it. Even her death wouldn't be easy.

The noose was cutting into her throat, making it impossible to speak. She pled with her eyes instead. _Please, Zuko. Please end this_.

Her brother smiled with cold amusement, as if he knew what she was thinking. They had always looked alike, but at this moment Zuko's resemblance to her was uncanny.

"You taught me well, Azula. I'm not going to help you, even to kill you. I'm going to let you swing on the rope you made."

And he was true to his word. He sat there and watched and she twitched and kicked and twirled, and slowly strangled to death. The pain was immense, but eventually everything faded to darkness…

*****

Darkness. Everywhere. All around her.

For the first time in her life, Azula screamed – long and loud and piercingly.

It was the screaming that told her she was still breathing. Azula clawed at her throat, gasping and panting for air. She was panicked, shivering, sweating. Why was she so worried about air? But she shouldn't be breathing, couldn't be breathing, because…because…

What couldn't she remember? She was convinced that she had died. Azula flailed about wildly, completely disoriented. Her thrashing caused her elbow to strike against the cold, hard floor.

That hurt! She flipped over onto her stomach and gleefully beat the metal with her fist. Warm liquid started to seep down over her clenched fingers. Azula laughed the whole time. She was Alive! Alive! Alive! She must have dreamed that she died. You couldn't feel pain in the afterlife.

Or could you?

_Oh my god_. She had died and gone to hell.

Azula's sleep-fogged mind finally insisted that _of course _she wasn't dead. But for a second, reality teetered on the brink of dreadful uncertainty. Truth and fantasy were equally balanced, and she couldn't tell the difference.

For the first time she seriously wondered whether they were right, and she was completely and utterly insane.

"Oh gods, _no_. Mama, please. Please help me."

Softly at first, and then without holding back, Azula keened her misery to the air.

*****

Two hours later, Azula was perfectly calm and composed – serene, even.

Doctor Soong was not. Lady Killer had been doing his job. The entire facility was seething with barely suppressed violence. Daring acts of rebellion occurred on a daily basis. One inmate had managed to attack the Doctor. Now his face was bruised, and his shoulders hunched with tension.

Something was coming. Even the guards were twitchy, although they didn't know why. Everyone was waiting for _it_ with hushed anticipation – whatever _it_ was.

In truth, they were all waiting for her – for her to do her part. But even Azula needed a little help. She needed the fickle goddess Fortune – who had turned her back on Azula – to turn again and bestow just one kindness.

"Your resistance is really quite pointless," the Doctor was saying, "since your silence tells me just as much as your answers."

She didn't respond. Why should she? Apparently her silence was telling him everything he needed to know.

He kept going. "For example, there's a very, very important question you haven't asked yet. A very basic question. I expected you to ask it when you first arrived here. But not a word." He peered at her closely. "You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?"

And so it went. Azula effortlessly kept up her side of the conversation, using her customary mixture of deflection, insinuation, and insult. These sessions were really _so_ monotonous.

Then something completely new happened. A soldier came in, walked hurriedly to Kwan Yu, and whispered in his ear.

Kwan Yu left the room.

Azula's heart rate spiked. _By the gods and all the spirits_! The Powers didn't want her dead. Not yet. They had finally granted her the one kindness, the one chance.

She carefully hid her excitement, and gauged her position. How freely could she speak? Azula decided to be fast and bold. She didn't know how much time she had, and soldiers weren't known for their subtlety anyway. And if one of them did suspect something, would he even tell Kwan Yu? Men like him made enemies, not friends.

"Doctor," she said, interrupting him mid-blather, "Why don't we talk about _your_ problems for once?"

He smiled gently. "I'm glad to see you take an interest in something, but don't you think this is just another excuse to avoid your own issues? Which are far more serious than mine, I assure you."

"I don't know, Doctor. You're problem looks big to me. Very big"

"You're not in a position to know anything about my life – except for my professional life, of course."

"It's hard to miss, especially down here. It's a large and tall and strong problem."

The Doctor suddenly stilled, and went pale as the moon. _That's right_, thought Azula, _I mean what you think I mean_.

He hesitated, bit his bottom lip. "How…How would you know about my problems?"

"Everyone knows about this one. It's the root of all your other problems."

His left eyelid started twitching. A large vein was protruding in the middle of his forehead, and a bead of sweat dripped off his nose. Azula wished he would control himself a little better. _Don't give the game away, you fool_.

"Even if what you say is true, which it's not, I fail to see why you would involve yourself."

She shrugged. "I'd hate to see it all explode in your face. Explosions can be dangerous for everyone."

"My, my. Aren't you cryptic. Not surprising, considering this is all a figment of your imagination." The Doctor was trying hard to sound casual. Azula resisted the urge to slap her forehead. "But I'll indulge you. Just what do you think _you_ could do about _my_ problems?"

She shrugged again. "I used to be good at eliminating problems. All it takes is opportunity and the right equipment."

He rolled his eyes. "Right. And in return for supposedly fixing this hypothetical problem, I'm sure you'll want something in return. I think I've listened to enough of this fantasy for one day."

_Think it through, you slimy bastard. You don't have to hold up your end of the deal_. "Have it your way, Doctor. But it seems to me that your time is running out."

They returned to their usual round of verbal sparring, which was just as well. It wasn't long before Kwan Yu came back. The Doctor gave him an ugly look, and didn't quite hide it in time.

Kwan Yu couldn't resist bothering him anymore than she could. He walked up behind the Doctor and gave his shoulders a friendly little squeeze. "Hey, Sweetie. Did you miss me?"

Doctor Soong shook him off and looked sick. "Not really," he muttered. "Everything was fine."

"I'm glad to see the big, bad girl didn't hurt you while I was gone."

Azula watched them gleefully. She couldn't have planned that any better.

Their secret, little discussion never came up again, but she could practically see the wheels turning in Doctor's Soong's head. She had been drip, drip, dripping poison into his ear for a long time. Apparently it was starting to pay off.

When it was time for Kwan Yu to apply some "persuasion", the Doctor cut him off sharply. "Not today. I'm sick of you both. Just…just take her back to her cell." He was massaging his temples like a man with a splitting headache.

Azula couldn't see it, but, as they carried her out of the room, she could _feel_ the Doctor's intent gaze boring into her.

She took it all in stride, and reveled in her newfound tranquility. She had made her play, the die was cast. Something would come of it, or it wouldn't.

If it came to nothing – well, she knew what she had to do. Maybe she should have done it a long time ago. Earlier today, as she sat alone weeping in the darkness, a novel idea – a revelation, really – was born out of nowhere. As soon as the thought was thought, a promise was made, her resolve set in stone. The unthinkable was now perfectly acceptable, even welcome.

Her veins were thin, and her teeth were sharp.

She would be leaving this place soon – one way or the other.


	13. Her Side of the Story I

**Hello, all. As ever, thanks for the reviews and sorry for the delay. **

**Also, I usually don't like to comment on my own work – I prefer to let the readers think what they will – but I think something should be said about the next three chapters. I've noticed that people who write about Azula try to make her look good at Zuko's expense. Here, I've tried to give her the chance she never had in the cartoon: to tell her side of the story. Obviously, Zuko doesn't end up looking as noble or victimized as he does in the series. **

**But I am not Zuko-bashing. As a matter of fact, you might say that Azula/Zuko is my favorite character, since they're just so interesting together. As you read this, and evaluate what Azula is saying, just keep a few things in mind:**

**1. Zuko is not a reliable narrator. We see everything – even past events – through his eyes. But there's another side to every story. I'm not saying that we should believe Azula instead of Zuko, but there's also no reason why we should think that Zuko's version is more authoritative. He's not exactly an unbiased witness, and he might have gotten some things wrong just through human error. Also, we're all prone to remembering things the way we want to.**

**2. Relationships are a two-way street. I once saw a fanfiction which stated that Azula deserved what she got, because she wasn't a good sister to Zuko. But in the course of the series, do we ever see Zuko being a good brother to Azula? Is there one favor? One show of concern? One kind word? **

**3. I wanted to re-watch certain episodes before I wrote this, but I just don't have time. If I've passed over something important, or if I've misremembered something, I do apologize.**

**

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Chapter 13 -- Her Side of the Story I

"I'm ready to tell my story."

Four sets of astonished eyes turned towards her, and she could swear that even Deaf and Dumb had blinked. Azula tried to act normal under the scrutiny. She reached for her cup casually, but couldn't quite get a hold of it. She jerked her hand back and hid it under the table, hoping that nobody had noticed the nervous flutter.

This was hard. Harder than she expected. Hadn't she spent her whole life guarding her secrets? It was her business to hide her weaknesses, and reveal only a carefully crafted illusion.

But time was running out. An end was coming – in one form or another – and she didn't know if she would survive. Azula needed to defend herself. She needed somebody to know what happened and why. She couldn't bear it if she died without anybody knowing the true story. _Her_ story, not Zuko's.

Azula looked around the table at the rapists and murderers – her new people – and wished it could be somebody else. Anybody else. But they were the only ones who wanted to listen.

"I'm ready to tell my story. I promised I would, and now I am."

Lady Killer shifted his chair closer and leaned forward in anticipation. "_Finally_. Praise the gods! This ought to be interesting."

"It's a long story. It might take a few days."

Even Innocent looked keen. "That's fine. We all want to hear something we haven't heard a dozen times before."

She hadn't started yet, and she already had their rapt attention. Somehow it made her even more nervous. Her heart was pounding, and she felt shaky and light-headed. She suddenly noticed that she was wringing her hands.

Azula took a deep breath and paused, like she was collecting her thoughts. As if she needed to! She had thought about this long and hard.

Then she took the plunge. Her voice was shaky at first, but slowly steadied, along with her nerves. The familiar act of public speaking was soothing. Soon she wasn't thinking of anything but the next word, the next turn of phrase. She had to get this right. She had to make them understand.

Azula brought all of her eloquence to bear. Her tale unfolded smoothly, hypnotically. It was as careful and persuasive as any of her lies…

*****

Once there was a fire prince and his wife, and they were both terribly ambitious.

There was an older brother in the way, and a young heir, but there were other paths to influence. If the prince and his wife had successful sons, then they could establish their own noble clan, and a powerful political dynasty. As it happened, they had one son and one daughter. The girl was a disappointment, but not without value. She could be married off to cement an important alliance.

But fate seldom takes heed of human plans. It wasn't the boy who showed potential. It was the girl, and she was a prodigy. The father, who was a consummate politician, adjusted his plans to fate. Now the boy was a disappointment, and his daughter became his chosen disciple.

Like high-born females throughout history, the mother threw all her hopes for prestige and influence into her son's career. It had never occurred to her to be anything but the daughter, wife, and mother of powerful men, or to make history herself by stepping beyond the traditional sphere of her sex. So her daughter's talent and ambitions seemed strange and unnatural.

Azula wasn't sure exactly when the troubles began between her and her brother, or who started it, but she thought it might have been him. In her earliest memory, she was sitting alone in a shadowy corner and making sparks. The sparks were colorful. Every color of the rainbow! Young Azula laughed in delight, as children will laugh at simple and silly things.

Zuko poked his head in through the concealing tapestries. When Azula finally noticed him, his mouth was slightly open, and there was a dark look in his eyes.

"'Zula," he said slowly, "can you make green sparks?"

She concentrated hard, and did so.

"Blue?"

She did that too.

There was no mistaking it. Now he was upset about something. Soon enough, she would learn that the strange emotion on his face was called _jealousy_.

He punched her on the arm. Hard. "You shouldn't do that, _Stupid_. You might set something on fire."

Azula wasn't the kind of little sister who cried. Zuko was too big to push around, so she reached towards his face and made her hottest sparks. He immediately yelped and jumped back.

"I'll set _you_ on fire, Dumb-dumb."

They didn't know it, but that was the beginning of a bitter feud that would consume their childhood. The endless cycle of strike and counter-strike escalated almost by the hour, until it was no longer clear who was retaliating for what. Hostility and hurtfulness were their own ends.

It didn't help that their petty conflict was playing itself out on a larger scale between their parents. Like most political marriages, theirs was an unhappy alliance. Lines were drawn, sides taken, and invisible weapons wielded with hideous ruthlessness. Their small family was engulfed in domestic warfare.

Unlike Zuko, Azula didn't lie to herself – not about their parents, anyway. Ozai really had only one use for females. He favored Azula mostly because it irritated his wife.

It wasn't that Zuko didn't have plenty of raw talent. He had talent in abundance. He just didn't have any self-control -- which was the other reason why Ozai turned his back on Zuko. Their father was a man who valued control above all things: both control over others, and the self-discipline which made it possible. He found his son's warm and open nature both distasteful and embarrassing.

Zuko never hid anything, and couldn't even when he tried. He relied on others for his emotional well-being, especially their mother. He cried easily, and lost his temper even more easily. His feelings caused him to act on impulse and do stupid things. Even when he did think matters through, he often made the wrong decision. It wasn't hard to see that Zuko wasn't the brightest person in the world.

All of this could have been overlooked in anyone else, but an heir of the imperial house couldn't be just anyone. He had to be better. He had to be the best. But Zuko was clearly unsuited for politics.

Worse yet, he couldn't seem to make use of the potential he did possess. When he didn't master a firebending technique easily, he became frustrated and short-tempered. He yelled at his instructors and bullied them into showing him something even more advanced.

He didn't understand that the world was full of talented people, and that his station in life had to be earned. Nor did he have the sick, ferocious compulsion to compete, to be better than others at any personal cost. Instead of drilling until he got it right, he thrashed and flailed and flexed his muscles for his two-hour daily session, then he went running to their mother. She would tell him that it was all right, and her baby would get it someday, and he worked harder than everybody else and that made him special.

Zuko repeated this to Azula. "Everything's easy for you. But I work for everything. It's who I am." He said it like he was scoring some sort of moral point.

He wasn't even right about her. No one – not even Azula – could simply wake up one morning and be a master firebender. Even the greatest talent in the world had to be molded. It required time, patience, obedience, and hard work.

Azula worked.

And worked.

And worked.

And worked.

And worked.

When she was with her instructors, she kept her mouth shut and soaked up every word. When they criticized her, she practiced relentlessly until they said she was perfect. Then she practiced some more.

She often trained in secret, so no one could see how much time she was spending on her firebending. If her brother and everyone else thought that it was easy for her, she wouldn't disillusion them.

Azula also had to purge herself of her physical disadvantages. She wasn't large, even for a woman. She had to compensate somehow. More than one servant had walked in on her doing push-ups in her bedroom.

One might even say that she devoted her entire life to compensating. As she got older, she became more and more convinced that she was born to be a warrior. Escaping her mother's world – the world of marriages and babies, fashion, gossip, and petty court intrigue – became her one goal, her one desire. Her monstrous, burning, gnawing, consuming obsession.

Men assumed that she was helpless, or feared that she would show them up. She had learned from her mother that even other women wouldn't support her. No one would ever give her a chance unless she made them. So it was that Azula turned to the fine art of manipulation, and her favorite practice dummy was her brother.

At some point she realized that fighting was only a very small part of true power and success. In the same moment, she realized that she had to be the best at everything. So Azula told her school teachers to read to her while she was training.

She never had enough time to do everything: there were only so many hours in the day. Clearly Azula had to extend her day. After reading about it in a history book, she decided to try a new trick. She went to bed with a rattle in her hand, and draped that arm over the side. When she went to sleep, the rattle dropped out of her hand and woke her up. Then she would work for an hour before starting the whole process over again. Azula decided that this worked very well, and her sleep patterns were never the same again.

She should have been proud of her work ethic and accomplishments, but as always her mother ruined everything. She wasn't sure why, but she suspected that Ursa wouldn't like the dark circles under her eyes, or the burn marks, or the lost weight, or the thousand other telltale signs. Azula had to devise ways to hide her odd habits. Sometimes she even stole make-up from her mother. Thus her pride turned to secret shame, and Azula became a habitual liar.

The race for supremacy was long and grinding, and the marathon woman was leaving her brother in the dust. Seemingly without effort and without a single stumble, Azula sailed over hurdles that were set too high for most adults.

As her achievements piled up, she never heard a single word of praise from her family. "Nice job, Azula. That was amazing. It's supposed to be impossible for someone your age." No. _Not a single fucking word_ – not from anybody but toadies and servants. Her father took success as a sign that he could push her further. Her brother resented her triumphs, and her mother was too busy telling Zuko how wonderful his mediocrity was.

To add insult to injury, little Azula realized that – despite his flaws – Zuko would be handed any rank or office he wanted, simply by virtue of his sex and high birth. Despite her merits, _her_ future was always in question.

That fact fueled her angry aggression. In their private, little war, Zuko was losing, and losing badly. Although nobody could match Zuko for sheer, bull-headed spite, she far surpassed him in inventive viciousness.

So when her father suggested that they play a nasty prank on Zuko, she jumped at the chance.

Firelord Azulon had been dealing with the stress of running a global empire for far too long, and it had made him a cantankerous, old man. One day they learned that her cousin Lu Ten had died, and Ozai made an insensitive and opportunistic remark. Azulon immediately gave his adult son an embarrassing scolding.

At the time, Azula thought that Ozai wanted to relieve his bad mood by tormenting Zuko. It always made _her_ feel better. Apparently Azulon's tantrum had inspired him.

He found her hiding behind the curtains, eavesdropping like always. Information was power, after all. Her father whispered his plan, and she gleefully ran off to execute it.

She told her brother that Azulon was angry about Ozai's callous reaction to Lu Ten's death. That Azulon wanted to teach their father a lesson. That he had ordered him to kill Zuko.

It was worth it just to see the look on Zuko's face-

"_Wait a second. Your father told you to tell your brother that he was going to kill him?"_

"_That's what I just said."_

"_What kind of sick bastard does that?"_

"_You're assuming that he did it just for pleasure. So did I. But he never did anything without a reason."_

"_What reason could he possibly have? That's so…so…"_

"_Fiendishly clever? Hilarious? Really, who knew that the Firelord had such a refined sense of humor?"_

"_You __**would**__ think so, wouldn't you? You disgusting-"_

"_Hush, both of you, and listen."_

Zuko knew her well: he said she was lying. He couldn't hide the panic in his eyes, however, or the sudden tension in his body. His reaction was delicious, but her moment of fun came at too great a cost. When she woke up the next morning, Azulon was dead, and her mother was vanished without a trace.

"_Vanished? You mean she just left, without a word?"_

"_She just left, without saying a word. Not to me, at least." _

And the rest of them went crazy.

Somehow, Ozai was crowned rather than Iroh. Their father had always been intimidating, but with his ascension he ceased to be their father. Now he was the great and terrible Firelord, and his behavior began to match his new image. Zuko and Azula learned to live in fear.

At first she tried to find out what had happened. No one would tell her anything. She had to employ all her stealth, and she scoured the entire palace day and night for weeks. After listening to countless hushed conversations, she realized that no one knew anything – not for sure. But there were whispers of ultimate treason, and banishment.

Azula had a vague, troubling suspicion that their prank wasn't as innocent as her father made it sound. Eventually her suspicion solidified into rock-hard certainty. She promised herself that she wouldn't tell anyone about her father's secret instructions, and she never had until this day.

"_What? It was all part of your old man's plan? He gets your mother to bump off the geezer, then he becomes the boss-man?"_

"_I don't know. I think so."_

"_Did you ever find out what happened to your mother?"_

"…"

"_Not a clue?"_

"…"

"_Oh. Shit. You sure?"_

"_Sure enough, though I don't have any proof. My father never left loose ends." _

Living with Ozai was like living under a giant, searching eye. Spies were everywhere. Everything they did was scrutinized, judged, and either acquitted or condemned. The stakes were high, the consequences of failure unthinkable.

Her brother withdrew into himself. As his frustrations turned into quiet desperation, he became dull-eyed and sullen.

Their mother, his staunchest ally and her nemesis, was gone, which should have diffused the tension between them somewhat. Instead, Azula's dissatisfaction grew and grew. Zuko was heir to the throne now. If he was going to rule by virtue of some stupid law about eldest sons, then he could at least try to be worthy of that great honor.

To his credit, he did think about it, and it did weigh heavily on him. But he wouldn't do anything about it. He still refused to reign himself in. It didn't help that their Uncle was always with him, encouraging his waywardness -- and pointedly ignoring Azula.

She was the one who shadowed their father night and day, who haunted the council chambers, who talked to their nation's leaders at every opportunity. What impressed her most was the contradictory nature of power. The greatest power called for the most minute care in wielding it. It required forethought, precision, and painstaking attention to detail.

The Firelord, sitting in the palace and all but cut off from the rest of the world, couldn't afford to become sloppy. One careless order, and thousands of people might pay for that mistake with their lives. It could be the difference between complete victory and utter catastrophe.

Putting a blundering hothead like Zuko in charge was just asking for disaster. He didn't see the danger though. He really believed that, if he kept on going as he was, he would still make a perfectly competent ruler. The fool also thought that he could control their fractious and warlike people, although he wouldn't even stand up to his little sister.

She needled him more fiercely than ever. Looking back on it, Azula thought that maybe she had secretly hoped he would fight back, that he would somehow put her in her place. If he could prove himself superior, then fate would be fair. It wouldn't be about age or sex or some nonsensical tradition.

"Zuko," she said one day, "you've really got to clean up your act. If you don't start acting like a man, and a man worthy of the line of Sozin, then Father will strike you out of the line. Permanently."

She was examining her nails, as if it were all quite casual. But she had planned this carefully, like everything she did. It was no more than the truth – a warning, really. She was doing him a favor.

They were eating breakfast at a small table in the garden. He suddenly stood up and overturned it. "Azula! Get the hell out of my face! There's only one person here who deserves to be punished, and it's you."

She cocked an eyebrow, remaining calm and composed while he threw his childish fit. That always aggravated him. "I deserve to be punished? Whatever did I do?"

"You're the worst sister in the world. If it weren't for you, I'd be fine."

He stomped off, and she stared after him in slack-jawed amazement. Now he was holding _her_ responsible for _his_ problems? She had always known that he was self-involved, but this… He was excusing his weakness by blaming his little sister.

As for being a bad sister – what did he expect? She wasn't obligated to repay his insults with compliments, his jealousy with affection, or his spite with adoration. Except when she was bruising his ego, he never even bothered to acknowledge her existence. Never had.

And she wasn't going to play the supporting role for somebody who couldn't handle the lead properly. Azula was the star of her own story!

Zuko really should have listened to her instead of yelling. Not long afterwards, her words proved prophetic. The Firelord called a war meeting one day-

"_Lunch time is over. You will remain seated until you are escorted back to your cells."_

"_Not now, godsdammit! I won't be able to think about anything else until I hear the rest."_

"_We've already had a longer lunch period than usual, I think. Much longer. I wonder why."_

"_I think the big man was listening. He probably wanted to hear more too."_

"_No! This story isn't for him to hear. What am I going to do?"_

"_My dear, everyone within earshot was listening. There's nothing for it. You'll just have to forget Kwan Yu and keep going. We simply won't be able to live unless you finish. Now try to rest up your voice until we see you again."_


	14. Her Side of the Story II

Chapter 14 – Her Side of the Story II

"_Thank the gods! You're here today. We're all dying to hear what you have to say. This is better than 'Love Amongst the Dragons'."_

"_Where was I?"_

"_The war meeting. As if you don't know."_

The Firelord called a war meeting one day, and Zuko finally decided that he ought to pay attention. If he were sensible, he would have found a good hiding place and eavesdropped, like she always did. Instead he stepped right into the hippo-lion's den.

She could have told him what would happen. Her brother never could keep his mouth shut. One of the generals proposed a plan that would involve the slaughter of some raw recruits. Zuko immediately scolded him for his lack of moral feeling. A challenge was thrown down, and accepted. The Agni Kai was scheduled for the next day.

That night, her father requested that she eat dinner with him. Azula did so, feeling light-headed with nervousness. She didn't let him see it, though. Outwardly, she was brave and bold as a dragon – as befits a member of the royal house.

She had never seen him so angry. Which is to say, his lips tightened from time to time, and he gripped his glass harder than usual. He told her what had happened in the war meeting. Although it was Zuko's place to say nothing, he had offered his opinion unasked. Although it was his place to show deference, he had contradicted and rebuked a senior council member. Even Ozai wouldn't have talked to this general in such an offensive manner.

Zuko's presumption revealed his lack of tact, control, and intelligence. What's more, it reflected badly on their family, and especially on Ozai. He also showed an intolerable lack of respect for his father's judgment and authority. It was the Firelord's right and duty to decide on matters of military policy. If

Zuko felt the need to speak up, then he implied that the Firelord wouldn't make the correct decision on his own.

Ozai wasn't even planning to accept the general's proposal. He might have been amoral, but Ozai didn't squander his pawns recklessly. He took a sip of his wine, and summed up the matter in that dry tone he did so well.

"If Zuko comes to another war meeting, I'm sure he'll wisely caution me not to sink my own battleships."

At the end of the meal, Ozai knelt down in front of her, so that his face was just inches from her own. Azula's heart was beating so hard that she wondered if he could hear it.

He stared straight into her eyes. "You would never do anything so foolish and disrespectful, would you, little Princess?"

Azula desperately shook her head "no".

"_You_," he placed a fingertip on her nose, "will learn from your brother's example."

"Yes" this time.

When the Agni Kai started in the morning, she wasn't surprised to see that it was her father standing in the arena, not the general. Zuko, however, was shocked, and immediately refused to fight. Ozai burned his face, stripped him of his honor, and banished him. As an additional cruelty, he gave him hope by promising that he could return if he captured the Avatar.

"_That's why the traitor prince was a traitor? That's why his face was burnt? He talked out of turn?"_

"_Well, that was the final straw, anyway. I think that Father just couldn't stand the thought of inflicting Zuko on the Fire Nation. He was really almost too stupid to live, let alone rule."_

"_But still…"_

"_But still. Even I will admit that Zuko didn't deserve the burning. You see, that was a lesson for me, not for him."_

As he left the arena, Ozai looked straight at her.

_Message received_. Throughout the entire ordeal, Azula wore a cruel and crafty smile, which is what her father would want and expect. Inside, however, she was shaking with fear.

A part of her was gleeful at her brother's fate. She had won! She had won! But when she went to bed that evening, she dreamed that it was _her_ flesh on fire, _her_ pain, _her_ failure, _her _punishment. In the years to come, that nightmare would return to terrorize her again and again. And it still did.

She had finally got what she wanted. Her mother, brother, and uncle – the only people who bothered, challenged, or opposed her – were gone. But like everything she thought she wanted, it wasn't much fun once she had it.

"_Wait a second… Iroh. He went away with Zuko, didn't he?"_

"_Yes."_

"_What about you?"_

"_What about me?"_

"_Your father mutilated his own son, he may have killed your mother. So your uncle went away with one child…and left the younger child alone with this man?"_

"_So?"_

"_That's damned irresponsible. Did he at least ask you if you wanted to leave?"_

"_Why should he? I was fine."_

"_Were you?"_

"_I'm alive, aren't I?" _

So she was left on her own with a tyrant and a thousand prying eyes – and the memory of those who were gone. It was amazing how much they haunted her. Until she was alone, she had never even realized that she wanted them around.

Now she was free to live openly, to work and train without fear that someone would question her odd habits. Her quest for perfection reached fanatical new heights. She was driven by her own contempt for her brother. There was nothing more ridiculous than a person who wasn't qualified for their job. Azula was heir to the throne, and nobody would ever doubt whether she deserved it.

Soon she was sent off on official missions. She was the Firelord's emissary to the world, and she needed a suitable image. Azula had learned as a small child that she wasn't lovable or charismatic. But she had to project some…some indefinable _something_ that would make her remarkable, that would inspire obedience. She took her father as her model, and terror became her chosen tool.

Before long, the stress started to take its toll. To the whole world, she was the same as ever – composed, calculating, controlled and controlling. The cracks in her armor were invisible. Although no one else could see them, she could feel them.

Azula – who was so proud of her self-discipline – was suddenly prone to fits of temper. She usually kept the fury in-check (barely), but when it leaked through, it exploded. She often turned it to her advantage, and so acquired a fearsome reputation. The most famous incident was her showdown with Admiral Shen. Still, there was a catastrophe waiting to happen. Now she had a new hidden guilt, another source of secret shame.

Azula went through life waiting for her hard work to pay off. She had everything she wanted. Where was the happy feeling that would make her sacrifice worthwhile? Her joy was always deferred – it was always just beyond the next mission, the next challenge, the next success.

She was convinced that there was something wrong with her.

The Avatar's return made everything worse. She was making a report to her father when the news came. As soon as they heard, they instinctively turned to each other and locked eyes. Ozai and Azula shared a look full of terrible understanding. From that moment, that knew that great events were in motion, and that time was ticking down to a final reckoning.

It never occurred to her that her father was feeling pressure too – not until plans were laid for the invasion of the North Pole.

Azula sat in the war meeting and listened to Zhao pitch his ridiculous idea. She couldn't wait for her father to shoot him down. Zhao was a pompous ass. How had he advanced so far?

Then, to her astonishment and dismay, the unthinkable happened. His proposal was accepted. Azula bit her lip as everyone started to discuss preparations. This went against everything she had learned. Was she missing something? She would have to ask her father about it later.

In the evening, she requested a private audience with the Firelord. "Sir, forgive me for bothering you, but I need to learn. And I don't understand."

"Speak your mind."

"Why are we invading the North Pole? The cost will be enormous, and we won't gain any new territory. No one will want to colonize the frozen tundra. And no one would know how to survive there even if they wanted to. The Northern Water Tribe has only one valuable resource: furs and hides. But furs will never pay for a fleet of that size."

"I'm surprised at you, Azula. Conquest is its own reward, fear its own end, and glory the ultimate prize. Surely I've taught you this, if I've taught you anything?"

True. But where was the glory in waste and mindless slaughter?

He kept going. "The Northern Water Tribe is one of the last great strongholds against Fire Nation power. No one has ever made any progress against them." _Because they never tried_, thought Azula. _Wise people_. "From now on, the whole world will look to where the moon used to be, and know that I have done something which not even my illustrious forebears could accomplish."

That she did understand. Precisely what drove her father had always been mystery to her, but part of the mystery had just been solved. Ozai was the only Firelord in generations without any military experience or triumphs. He must have felt the lack keenly, especially since his older brother was a celebrated general. But there was only so much left to conquer.

Ozai and Azula were both competing against their own ancestors, and it was almost impossible to measure up.

Still. All those men and resources…all for some god-forsaken _icebergs_.

"_You're upset. Did you have relatives in the invasion fleet?"_

"_My brother was a ship mechanic. I'm all right. Keep going." _

She wasn't asked to go with the expedition, for which she was grateful. She was even more grateful when she heard about its disastrous defeat. But one man's downfall can be another man's golden opportunity. Azula was about to get her big break.

Both Iroh and Zuko were at the North Pole, but _why_ they were there – that was something of a mystery. Reports from the North Pole were few and confused. It wasn't clear whether those two had helped or hindered the invasion effort.

It was a critical time for the Fire Nation. They couldn't afford to let such dangerous wildcards roam free. Azula was sent to bring them in. While chasing them, she crossed paths with the Avatar.

She immediately sent a messenger hawk to her father, informing him of the situation and advising that a small, elite team be sent in pursuit. When she received her answer, she was talking to a colonial governor. She read the note, and had to turn aside so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

As she hoped, she was to lead the team. Azula was almost overwhelmed with emotion. Although she had been groomed for command since birth, she still couldn't believe the enormity of the honor, the extent of her father's trust.

If she could pull this off, her future would be assured. Her right to succession would be unassailable. What's more, she would be in all the history books – not as a footnote, but as a mighty hero.

That night, Azula set out candles with shaking hands, and she prayed to her ancestors. She prayed that she would prove herself worthy of them. She prayed that she would capture the Avatar and end the war, thereby completing the glorious undertaking which they had begun.

Why should she talk about her hunt? The whole world knew the details. Or the whole world knew about the thrilling battles, at any rate. Most people didn't know about the connections she had to forge, the witnesses she had to question, bribe, and threaten, the long, fruitless nights of surveillance, the disguises, the second-guessing and back-tracking, the clue-finding and trap-baiting. For every time they fought the Avatar, her little group fought half-a-dozen skirmishes with Earth Kingdom soldiers.

Those were long, grueling weeks. But Azula was out of the palace and away from her father, and she was doing what she was born to do. If she ever felt like stopping or slowing down, she felt the weight of history pressing her on.

For the first time in her memory, she was almost happy.

Almost. Even when he was gone, Zuko stood between her and complete happiness. Azula felt a nagging anxiety about his welfare. It was her duty to bring him back to the Fire Nation, but what would happen to him once he got there? If he were imprisoned or killed, that would be a waste, and Azula hated waste. He would never be a politician, but he might make a passable military man.

She didn't want him dead or jailed; he didn't deserve to be dead or jailed. She just wanted him out of the way of her destiny.

At Ba Sing Se, an idea hit her so suddenly that she acted on it before she could think about it. She told Zuko that she needed his help to take down the Avatar.

This wasn't true, of course. She had made her plans well in advance, and they all involved her usual helpers, Ladies Mai and Ty Lee. Together, those two were more helpful in a fight than Zuko was. But this was the only way that Zuko would go home in honor instead of chains.

Not only did he accept, but he betrayed his beloved uncle to do so. Zuko had chosen _her_ instead of Iroh. This affected her deeply, though she couldn't even name the emotion. When they saw Mai and Ty Lee, Azula was so flustered that she made up a stupid and transparent excuse to get them out of the way. Zuko needed the glory more than they did.

Her gamble paid off. Ba Sing Se was taken, and the Avatar shot down. She and her brother returned home together.

They were on a ship, heading back to the Fire Nation. It was the middle of the night, and Azula was staring out over the railing, deep in thought. What had she done? Now her only competition for the throne was back, and it was all her own doing. She had already forgotten why she did it.

Zuko appeared beside her. Should she kill him? He was completely unsuspecting. She could heave him overboard before he even realized what was happening. Her father would probably be proud of her, as long as she didn't get caught.

She let him be. She always did.

"So, Azula. Mai and Ty Lee had to guard a bear?"

"You heard me tell them so."

"Admit it. You were just getting them out of the way so I could fight instead."

"I admit it."

"You didn't need me at all."

"No."

"Then why did you do it, Azula?"

That was the question, wasn't it? She struggled for an answer, she struggled for words. Azula ended up saying the only thing that came to mind, the only thing that came anywhere near the truth. For the first and last time in her life, she let her brother see what was actually going through her head.

"I know there are better brothers, but you're the only one that's mine."

He made a strangled noise. "Better _brothers_? You are un-fucking-believable. You're also a godsdamned liar. I don't know what you're up to, but I'm going to find out."

"A _thank you_ would have been nice." But she was speaking to the empty air. He had already left. Azula turned back to contemplating the lonely ocean.

She was going to try. She really was. There was no reason for them to squabble like children anymore, and every reason for them to get along. The royal family had to work together for the sake of their nation.

Besides, her brother was the only person who talked to her like a fellow human being, not a superior. Or an inferior, in her father's case. Granted, she was a fellow human being that he didn't like much, but it was still refreshing.

But that hypocrite, Zuko, lied. He accused her of lying like she was some kind of hideous monster, but he lied first! On their first day back, she found him looking depressed and anxious. It was such a familiar sight that it made her feel nostalgic. It was completely uncalled for, though. This was his joyful day of homecoming.

Remembering her resolution, she dutifully asked him what was wrong. He replied that he was worried about their father's reaction. Zuko hadn't captured the Avatar like he was supposed to.

But why… Azula was suspicious. It was her job to know people, and something was wrong here.

"Who cares?" she asked casually. "The Avatar's dead. Unless somehow you think he miraculously survived?"

He looked away shiftily. "No. There's no way he could have survived."

_Spirits_! He was lying. Zuko knew something. This was a matter of national security, and he was lying about it! If he knew something about the Avatar, then he should have told her before they even left Ba Sing Se.

What to do? What to do? She couldn't just tell her father that the Avatar was alive. The news had already been spread to every corner of the Fire Nation. Retracting the story would be politically humiliating. And he would ask her how she knew. Then she would have to tell him that Zuko was lying…

She shivered. The consequences would be hideous. Maybe she was overreacting? Maybe she was mistaken? But if there was even a possibility that the Avatar was alive, then something had to be done about it.

In the end, she decided that this was Zuko's problem to fix, if there was a problem. Thus, one lie begat another. When she reported to her father, she told him that Zuko had killed the Avatar, not her.

"_Wait. You shot down the Avatar? I thought…"_

"_That's because I lied."_

If Zuko was telling the truth, like a good son and citizen, then she had just helped him out. She had ensured that their father would receive him well. But if he was holding out on his family, on his lord, on his nation…well, now he could correct his treasonous error before anyone found out.

Her worst fears were confirmed when he came bursting into her bedroom in the middle of the night, demanding to know why she had done it. He never believed that she had his best interests at heart, so she told him what he wanted to hear.

"What ulterior motive could I possibly have? Unless the Avatar was alive. Then all that glory would turn to shame and foolishness. But you said that was impossible."

There. If that didn't light a fire under his ass, she didn't know what would. Azula hoped he would nightmares about this. It was no more than he deserved – the stupid, stupid boy.

Azula knew that _she_ worried about it. This was just one anxiety of thousands. She had performed so well in her mission, that her father decided she was ready to share some of his responsibilities. The Avatar's return had sparked various rebellions all across the Earth Kingdom. Ozai was spending more and more of his time with his military advisers, so he assigned more and more of his domestic duties to her.

While Zuko was making out with his girlfriend, Azula was running a country.

She still found the time to look out for him. Her spies informed her that he had met with a famous assassin. Maybe the Avatar situation would be all right, then. But now he was visiting their uncle in prison. Did he want to get himself executed? Didn't he know that treason would be the natural conclusion if anyone found out? She warned him against going – warned him without any strings attached. Of course he wasn't grateful for her advice, and of course he didn't listen.

If Zuko couldn't be helpful, he could at least try not to create any more trouble. Why the hell didn't he grow a brain?

On top of everything else, they were preparing to meet the Earth Kingdom invasion force. The Day of Black Sun was almost upon them. Her father didn't have any hands-on military expertise, which meant that much of the work fell to her.

Azula felt like she was drowning, and it wasn't-

"_Lunch time is over. You will remain seated until you are escorted back to your cells."_

Azula felt like she was drowning, and it wasn't long before others started to notice.

* * *

**I have to admit that I borrowed a quote: "I know there are better brothers, but you're the only one that's mine". It comes from a song entitled** **"Brother", and the band is **_**Murder by Death**_**. Although the song isn't really applicable to Zuko and Azula, as soon as I heard that line, I just knew that I would put it into Azula's mouth.**


	15. Her Side of the Story III

**Sorry this took so long. It required a lot of thought, and ended up being much lengthier than I expected.**

**I hate to say this, but the next update is going to take even longer. It's the end of the semester, and I have an unbelievable amount of work to do. I don't think I'll be able to post again until school is done around the middle of May. On the bright side, I'll be on summer break at that point, so updates should become more regular.**

* * *

Chapter 15 – Her Side of the Story III

"_How exciting. Today we'll hear the thrilling conclusion to your epic saga. I wish I had some fireflakes." _

"_I wish for a lot of things. Fireflakes are pretty far down on the list."_

"_You know, you've covered most of your life, and I still don't see why you're here."_

"_Don't you? I thought it was obvious."_

"_Not at all. But they say you went crazy. It must have been pretty spectacular, to land you in this pit."_

"_I suppose it must have been, at the very end. Though I don't really remember that part. Most of it was quiet. And lonely." _

Azula refused to admit it, even to herself, but she was slowly buckling under the pressure.

There were just too many things to do, too many things to worry about. Many of them were matters of international import, some of them were matters of life and death.

She started to get blinding, debilitating headaches. She saw spots in eyes. She couldn't sleep. Her appetite vanished. Her hair was shedding constantly. Her hands shook. Her body ached.

Usually she was the last person to worry about her own health, but she finally broke down and consulted the royal physicians. There had to be something wrong with her. They assured her there wasn't, but at least one of them must have been concerned. Someone whispered discreetly to the Firelord that "the Princess might enjoy a vacation".

Accordingly, he sent his children and their friends to Ember Island for the weekend, and covered for her by saying that he wanted to meet with his advisors alone. Thank the gods. She couldn't bear it if Zuko knew this was for her benefit.

And their little holiday did do some good – for the others.

Something happened that made Azula think about her mother, and once she started she couldn't stop. When she got back to the palace, she felt worse than ever. There was a new pressure behind her eyes, a new heaviness in her chest, and it wasn't physical.

Then there was Zuko. It always came back to Zuko. His life wasn't the only one being ruined by their stupid feud.

They were both lying to their father, they were both in constant danger of exposure. If Ozai ever learned the truth, there was no telling what he might do. Thus, their lies should have bound them together in a conspiracy for survival. Should have…if they had thought the matter though logically and dispassionately. But there was no place for logic or dispassion in their raw, bitter, bleeding relationship.

Their twin deceit had sent them spiraling back down into their old childhood habits. The cycle of alternating and increasing aggression renewed itself. But they weren't children anymore, and they both sunk to new depths of meanness and cruelty. The constant fear of betrayal lent urgency to their quarrel. Their private struggle now acquired an edge of desperate ferociousness. This contest was dead serious.

Everyday, he would tell her in some snide, underhanded way how disgusting she was. He enlisted her own supposed "friends" against her. Mai and Ty Lee were spending more time with Zuko than with Azula. Sometimes he and Mai would whisper together and look at her, then they would start laughing.

But Azula had the ally who mattered most: their father. She was still clearly the preferred heir, and she threw it in Zuko's face at every opportunity. He had chosen his enemy badly. She knew his every weakness and insecurity, and she used her insight to tear him down mercilessly.

The worst part was that Zuko wasn't the only problem. Azula was unhappy with both of them. Whenever she was around him, she became the worst possible version of herself. She could hardly stand to look in the mirror anymore.

And she had to live with the knowledge that she had brought this on herself. Azula could have left him to rot in the Earth Kingdom. She could have ignored him, like any insect that was beneath her notice. But there was only one tiny spark of human warmth in her darkening heart, only one frail strand of human connection, shining like a lifeline, and it was reserved for her brother.

She was tying herself into knots over someone who couldn't be bothered to feel a thing about her, unless it was jealousy or suspicion. It was just so stupid, and she despised herself for her weakness.

Living with Zuko became a daily torment. He must have felt the same way about her.

Something had to give. They couldn't go on like this forever. It was a war meeting that had decided between them years ago. Ultimately, another war meeting would intervene, once again leaving one of them with nothing.

Azula had been pouring over maps for weeks, and intelligence reports and statistics. Sozin's comet was approaching, and it was imperative that they harness its power to make some sort of decisive strike. After countless hours of research and thought, she thought she knew what they had to do. She honed her plan to perfection, and waited for the right moment to reveal it.

Oddly enough, it was Zuko who gave her the perfect opportunity. She savored the fact that he had provided the opening which would secure her victory.

One general proposed that they pour more troops into the Earth Kingdom. Since Zuko had spent the most time among the Earth peoples, Ozai asked Zuko if he thought that would be an effective measure.

For once, he said something fairly astute. "The people of the Earth Kingdom are proud and strong. They can endure anything as long as they have hope."

It was a dramatic moment. Ever the actress, Azula took her cue and swept onto the stage with an equally dramatic line.

"I think we should take their precious hope, and the rest of their land, and burn it to the ground."

She had hoped that the sensational overstatement would catch everyone's attention and increase the plan's immediate appeal. She was right. The Firelord adopted her proposal on the spot.

It was impossible, of course, to scorch the entire continent within a twenty-four-hour period. Even if it were possible, they wouldn't be able to withdraw all their troops from the Earth Kingdom before the comet came. And who wanted to own a gigantic, lifeless rock? They would have to settle for a fraction of the entire landmass. The question was, which fraction?

Azula had put her hard-won information to good use, and designed a strategy which would target areas of vital military significance. They would secretly maneuver their teams into position ahead of time. With the arrival of the comet, they would launch multiple simultaneous attacks, raining down fire from above using war balloons. Their soldiers would be perfectly safe. And even if some of the teams were taken out, others would succeed. Since they would be scattered all over the continent, it would be impossible for anyone to bring down all of them.

Her plan was tactically brilliant and brilliantly cost effective. It would leave the Earth Kingdom war effort completely crippled. Further troops and expense would be unnecessary. As a matter of fact, they would be able to pull back a bit, relieving the Fire Nation's already strained military budget.

Her father, however, insisted on cutting one, broad swathe of destruction straight through the most densely settled portion of the continent. That would reduce the entire population by as much as a tenth. Since that was also the most productive land, many others would starve to death. The Earth peoples wouldn't recover for decades – or ever, if the Fire Nation made life miserable enough for the survivors. It would also be an awesome and flamboyant show of might.

Ozai made his intentions clear and refused to be swayed on the issue. That night, Azula dreamed that her father named her queen, and crowned her with his own hands. Her realm would be blackened earth, and her subjects charred corpses. She had her kingdom, but where was her glory? The blasted land couldn't provide for her, and the dead didn't fear her.

There was also the Avatar issue. Such a massive loss of human life would call for an immediate and extreme response from the Avatar. Dare they provoke such a thing? Not that she could mention it to her father. As far as he knew, the Avatar was dead.

From that moment on, Azula was oppressed by a dreadful sense of foreboding. Sometimes she almost convinced herself that she was being silly: the Fire Nation was unstoppable, and her father always knew best. Then she would remember twisted ships beneath a polar sky, and corpses in the frigid water. And she would be uneasy.

But that was absolutely not guilt she felt gnawing at her vitals, and leaving the taste of ash in her mouth.

Now, on top of everything else, she had to prepare for her father's (_insane_?) expedition. She managed to ignore the way he refused to take sound advice, and the gleeful intensity with which he calculated the possible death toll. Was it her imagination, or was his gaze a bit…_off_? She also managed to ignore her own misgivings. Azula couldn't afford to waste time by doubting. She had too much work to do.

The strain was starting to effect her performance. One night, she fell asleep at her desk. Then she overslept by twenty minutes in the morning. That meant that her servants didn't have time to apply her make-up. Azula strode through the halls with her most dangerous expression, ready to pounce on anybody who dared to comment. She felt naked without her make-up, and that made her feel vulnerable.

In one meeting that day, she dropped a document on the floor. She bent down to pick it up, and somehow it wasn't in her hand when she straightened up again. Azula had to stoop down three times before she finally got hold of it. Right in front of everyone! Later on, she misheard what someone said, and made a nonsensical reply. Somebody had to correct her.

At lunchtime, she dropped food on her shirt. That was hideously embarrassing, but what followed was even worse. She thought she had some extra time before her next meeting, so she spent it in her room staring blankly at her wall. Azula seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. When she finally went to the meeting, it was already breaking up. It was an hour later than she thought it was.

Azula walked into the nearest empty room and slammed the door behind her, then leaned on it heavily. What the hell was wrong with her? She didn't know how long she stood there, breathing heavily and shaking, before she noticed the pressure behind her eyes. Was she blinking back tears?

No. No! She wouldn't cry. That would be adding insult to injury. Without conscious thought, Azula walked to a nearby chair and picked up a cushion. Then she ripped it apart. Afterwards, she took her knife and slashed the fabric on a small couch. She picked up a stand and smashed it to pieces on the floor. She kicked a stool until it broke. She shattered a mirror. She threw a vase. She swung a tall, metal lamp and beat it against the wall again and again and again.

Finally the door opened and Zuko stuck his head in. He must have been attracted by the noise. Azula froze.

"Are you…" He paused and took in the rest of the room. She looked around too. Everything was completely trashed. _Dear gods_. He had seen! Zuko grinned at her wolfishly, bearing all his teeth. "Having a temper tantrum, Princess Perfect? What? There weren't any small children to steal from, or kittens to light on fire?"

Azula panicked. She reacted the way she always did when she felt threatened: she went on the offensive. Advancing until she stood toe-to-toe with him, she said the most provoking things she could think of.

"Actually, I was thinking of you, of how ashamed I am to be related to such a useless, pathetic, talentless piece of shit. Our father is disgusted with you. If our mother were here, if she hadn't left because of you, even she would be embarrassed. I guess our uncle doesn't mind, but you had him thrown in prison. What about you, Zuzu? Do you realize that you're only half a man? Does it make you cry like a baby? I bet Mai would tell me. When I'm Firelord, I'll have her flogged until she admits what everyone already knows: you're completely impotent, and she's only going out with you because you're paying her like some cheap, road-side whore."

He was turning red, and the veins were popping out at his temples and forehead. _Almost there_. Azula added one final touch. "Thinking about you made me so sick, that I had to come in here and blow off some steam. I was pretending that this furniture was your ugly, scarred face."

He pushed her, but she was ready for it. Getting low, she pushed him back as hard as she could. Zuko stumbled backwards out of the room. Azula followed, and swung the door shut behind her with her foot, concealing the scene of her little meltdown.

Their shoving match quickly turned violent. When their father found them a few moments later, they each had the other locked in a wrestling hold. Usually Ozai was amused by their on-going battle, but today he looked annoyed.

"Don't embarrass yourselves in front of the servants."

It was as good as an order. They immediately jumped apart, and their father continued on his way. Sometimes Azula wondered about that moment. Maybe things would have turned out differently, maybe everything would have changed for the better, if only they had it out then and there, if they had gotten into a bruising, rough-and-tumble, down-and-dirty, knuckle-splitting brawl. It certainly would have relieved some tension. But they didn't.

They glared at each other instead, and Zuko ended their staring match by spitting on her.

"You're the worst human being I've ever met. _I'm_ ashamed to be related to _you_."

He spun on his heel and stalked away. _Mission accomplished_. He had obviously forgotten about the wrecked furniture, so her performance had worked. But that didn't mean she would let him have the final word.

She used her darkest voice and called after his retreating back. "Zuko, the day of the invasion is coming up. You know who will be there, don't you?"

He paused ever so slightly, kept on going. But she saw him tense up. Her shaft had hit the mark.

Maybe he hadn't thought about it until that moment, or maybe he had. Either way, Zuko realized at some point that his secret would come out on the Day of Black Sun. If the Avatar was alive, he would no doubt be with the invasion force.

On the day of the eclipse, Azula stopped by Zuko's room just before taking her position. If he had any sense of self-preservation, he would use the invasion as a distraction to make his escape.

She found him sitting on his bed, sharpening his sword. When he saw who was at the door, his face darkened. It always did when he looked at her.

"Why are you here?"

"I've come to say goodbye." Her voice was crisp, and her hands were folded neatly behind her back, as if this were just business.

He probably thought he was hiding it, but she could sense his sudden unease. "Goodbye? Why?"

She shrugged casually. "We're all going into battle. You never know who might not come back."

"I'd thank the gods and all our ancestors if _you_ didn't come back. But I've never been that lucky."

"Well, then." Azula turned smartly on her heel and left the room, silently cursing her sudden lack of words. If ever there was a time for a snappy comeback, that was it. She also tried to ignore the haunting sense of…what? disappointment? regret? Stupid girl. Stupid! What had she expected?

Azula walked away from her brother, and silently hoped that she would never see him again.

Their defense strategy worked perfectly. Or rather – why quibble? – _her_ defense strategy worked perfectly. As Azula sat in the throne room next to her father, listening as all units made their reports, she supposed that she should be congratulating herself. But all she could feel was relief.

Zuko was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully he was heading far, far away, where Ozai wouldn't find him. Azula could sense the tension emanating from the silent Firelord, who was no doubt thinking about a very alive Avatar, and a missing son.

Finally everything was accounted for, and the assembled throng awaited the Firelord's dismissal. For long moments he didn't say a word, and Azula found herself holding her breath – along with everyone else in the room. Something was wrong.

At last he began to speak. As comprehension dawned, Azula's happy relief curdled to horror.

Zuko owed his life to Fire Nation ancestors. Fire Nation citizens grew the food he ate, and produced the clothing on his back. Fire Nation servants waited on him night and day. Fire Nation soldiers protected him, fought for him, and sometimes died for him. The Fire Nation had reared and educated him. Her laws and customs had molded him. He owed his wealth to their people's labor, and his high status to their allegiance.

Everything he was, and everything he had, he owed to the Fire Nation. Because the royal family enjoyed the greatest benefits, their debt to their country was the greatest. It was their special duty to fight for the Fire Nation at any cost, to lay down their lives without a moment's hesitation, if that's what their people needed.

But Zuko had turned his back on all of them. All the pride, all the responsibility, all the lessons which he had been taught since birth – he just pissed it all away. She knew her brother well. She hadn't expected him to stay around and face the consequences of his actions. But he didn't just run away, he _defected_.

Ozai described their encounter. Like a coward, Zuko had waited until the eclipse stripped Ozai of his bending advantage. Zuko told him that he was going to join the Avatar, that he would enlist the Avatar's aid to help him seize the throne. Then he attacked the Firelord, his sovereign and father.

No doubt he had taken money and supplies with him to help in his treasonous quest. Money and supplies that belonged to the Fire Nation.

Azula couldn't stand it. Before her father even finished, she stood up and unfastened her armor, leaving it where it dropped. Then she jumped down off the podium and made her way through the crowded hall.

How could she look anybody in the eye when she was related to such a disgrace? For the first time in her life, the Princess walked with downcast eyes. She pulled up her shirt and covered her face in shame.

Once she was alone, she sprinted back to her room and locked herself in. Why did she feel this way? She had known that Zuko was leaving, and she wasn't surprised by the treachery. Not really. After all, hadn't Zuko been committing treason since Ba Sing Se? He had known about the Avatar being alive all this time, and not said a word.

Azula was almost never surprised by anything, except the intensity of her own emotions. She stood absolutely still in the center of her room all night long, staring straight ahead and willing herself not to scream.

In the morning, the Firelord sent for her. Zuko had left a letter. In it, he told the truth. The whole truth. Her father knew everything. In light of her numerous services, he wouldn't kill her, but there was a penalty to be paid.

So she alone took the punishment that should have been hers and Zuko's. Azula suffered gladly. It was no more than she deserved. She had selfishly brought a dangerous traitor into their midst, concealed his lies, and put her Lord Father's life at risk – just to satisfy some absurd emotional need.

Two days later, they held a state funeral for the soldiers who fell during the invasion. Brave men, all of them. Some of them were the sons of cobblers, of bakers, of butchers, of farmers and servants and builders. Some were the children of prostitutes and drug runners and street thugs. Others were the children of no one in particular, who had enlisted to escape a life of crime and slow, despairing death. They came from all over and from all walks of life, sharing only their duty in common.

To many of them, the Fire Nation had never given anything worth having. They had received a single gift: the chance to exchange a life of grinding poverty for one of dangerous labor. While these proud souls valiantly held their ground, while they made the supreme sacrifice so that the homeland could be safe, their own noble son deserted. Zuko had been given everything, all he had to do in return was serve when called upon. Just that one thing. And he had refused to do that one thing.

Azula listened while her father made the funeral oration. Normally she would have swelled with pride. Theirs was a gallant and heroic people. But how could she have any pride on this day, of all days? They were honoring these men for passing the test which her brother failed.

Her father must have been thinking the same thing. When the ceremony was over, he turned to her, and she could see that his jaw was clenched.

"Zuko has been sentenced to death."

"Yes, Sir. I know, Sir."

"It's not enough to leave this to others. I want you to take charge personally. If you can capture him alive, then so much the better. We'll have him publicly executed. But if not, then don't hesitate to administer justice in the field."

Azula bowed as deeply as she could. "Lord Father, it will be a privilege. I won't rest until I restore honor to our house."

She meant it. Zuko would pay for what he had done, for what he was planning to do. Azula immediately set her intelligence network in motion. At some point he would make a mistake, and she would have him. Then she would prove to her father that he was right to keep trusting her.

If he did trust her. More and more, Azula found herself cut off from his inner counsels. Soon they were barely interacting. One day she hinted as tactfully as possible that perhaps the plan for Sozin's Comet should be reconsidered. The Avatar had reappeared, and if he could wreck an entire fleet of battle ships, he could no doubt wreck a fleet of war balloons. From that point on, she was even excluded from the comet preparations.

Mai and Ty Lee were also avoiding her. And if she was with them, they would share knowing looks when they thought she couldn't see. Or they would give her sly, sideways glances.

Well, fuck them. As soon as she had the time, she would find new friends- No. She would find new _henchmen_. If a brother could do what Zuko did, who was to say what a so-called friend was capable of? Her relationship with Mai and Ty Lee had never been satisfying to begin with.

Since life was so disappointing in every other way, she decided to focus on what she did best. Azula worked and worked, and no longer knew if it was she herself who breathed or walked or went or talked. Her body ached with exhaustion, and a dark cloud of dread and anxiety fogged her mind, making the whole world seem bleak.

This was where everything started to get jumbled up. Was she so confused at the time? so erratic and insecure? Azula wasn't sure. Nobody ever said a word, or asked about it. But if reality was anything like the memory, she must have been a disordered mess.

She did remember spilling ink one night. Azula was never so clumsy and oafish. Never! So she laid the offending hand flat on her desk and struck it once, twice, thrice with a paperweight. Then she cradled the injured limb and rocked back and forth, trying to contain her rising hysteria. The next day the doctor asked her how she hurt her hand, and she lied.

She also remembered the Boiling Rock. On a visit to the infamous prison, she crossed paths with her brother. It wasn't clear at the time exactly why he was there, but she had her orders, and she had her pride. Zuko had to be brought down.

When it was clear that she wouldn't capture him alive, she gave the command that would end his life. Mai defied her, though, and Ty Lee betrayed her too. She would never forget what Mai said.

"I guess you miscalculated. I love Zuko more than I fear you."

Oh Mai! What a piece of work you were! As ever, her words were plain and pointed as bare steel, and they cut deep. Azula could never understand why the Lady of the Knives, She of the Piercing Gaze and Thoughtful Silence -- Azula didn't understand why a person of such quality wasted herself on Zuko. Mai would always tell him whatever he wanted to hear, she supported him in everything, she put up with his tantrums and listened to his whining…and in return he noticed her existence.

Azula had always noticed. She gave Mai a chance to exercise her vast talents, to earn her own way in the world. It was an opportunity that Mai seized gladly. Azula rewarded her service lavishly, showered her with wealth and high rank. Zuko had never offered Mai anything except betrayal and his own selfish need.

For all that, Mai chose him. She threw away her life and all that potential, not for a cause or an ideology, but for a boy who wasn't worthy of her. And Ty Lee chose Mai. Azula had her two only "friends" thrown in prison. What else could she do? They had defied a member of the imperial house in front of others. That was treason, and men had died for less. It would be unjust to excuse them out of personal affection, and she couldn't afford to lose face by letting such blatant insubordination go unpunished.

Not that she wanted to. Azula felt sick. On the ride home, she gathered up all of their belongings and lit them on fire.

Miscalculated? Hardly. Hadn't she expected something like this? Hadn't she seen it coming a mile away? The question was, why did she keep them around despite her suspicions? And why did this hurt so much?

_I love Zuko more than I fear you_. Was that her only hold over them? Fear? They didn't like her at all? Not even a little bit? Well, she had known that too. But still…

She had hoped. She had hoped that she was wrong.

Azula watched the last trace of her friends go up in flames, and her hope went with it.

After that, she knew that it was only a matter of time. She had lived her life like a machine, a machine that spat fire and threatened and connived – seemingly without error, without emotion, without pausing or tiring. Maybe everything still looked fine from the outside, but inside the cogs were slipping, and the perfect, artificial tempo was losing its rhythm. The mechanical girl was finally shaking herself to pieces.

The worst part of the long, slow breakdown was that she had plenty of time to see the end coming. A catastrophic failure was looming, and she was terrified. Azula lived in barely suppressed panic, desperately trying to hide her problem from everyone. There wasn't a single person she could tell about it.

Something was wrong – very, very wrong. And she didn't know what it was, and she didn't know how to fix it.

Or did she? Didn't all of her troubles have a single source, like an open, seeping wound that spread its infection? The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that her problem had a physical presence. It had a face and a name, and it was _Zuko_.

A problem with a living body could be solved. Permanently.

He had stolen her mother from her, her uncle, and her friends. He had always stood between her and her rightful destiny. He fouled up the atmosphere with his antagonism, making her life miserable every day. He told her over and over how hideous she was, although she had offered him a chance to come home. Then he went and disgraced them all.

Worse still, he made her weak. Because of her secret soft spot, she brought him back of her own free will, though she couldn't possibly benefit from his presence. For once, she had done something really great for someone else – just for him! – and he threw it in her face. Now look where it had gotten her. For the first time in her life, she was in trouble with her father. Ozai could have killed her for what she did. Azula was lucky that he hadn't.

Her father was right to send her after Zuko. This would make her better. If she couldn't cure herself of her weakness, then she would cut it off at its source with fire and lightning.

The more she thought about her brother, the angrier she got. Everything reminded her of him. As she walked, even her heels seemed to click "Zu…ko…Zu…ko…Zu…ko". She embraced her rage, gladly felt it consume her. Rage wasn't sad or lonely or afraid, and it wasn't hard to understand or deal with. Rage could find an outlet in action, and relief in lashing out. It would also die when its object did.

If she could just take care of this one thing, then everything would be all right.

So when she finally found the hole that her brother had crawled into, Azula threw herself against him with all her might and fury. Her own reckless desperation would have frightened and appalled her if she had been thinking straight.

But she failed, she failed, she failed. Now she was the one crawling. At some point afterwards, she sunk lower still, and so ensured her own downfall and humiliation.

When Azula learned about human tragedy, she was standing in her bathroom. She had worked far into the dull, stretched, weary hours of earliest morning. Even her fury couldn't hold its edge at this time of the day. She washed and dried her face, then she opened a drawer beneath her sink and looked down. That's when it happened, without any reason or warning or fanfare.

While most people were sleeping, and the guards made their rounds, and somewhere in the palace a baker lit his daily fire, the climax of her own sad, pathetic, little drama went quite unnoticed. She was simply gazing at the contents of her drawer, and all of a sudden she couldn't take it anymore. Something inside let go, and she came undone.

Azula couldn't see any reason to go on, so she made the decision that would end her suffering sooner rather than later. That decision would seal her fate, but its only outward sign was a small, barely audible "click".

On the day of the comet, her attendants came to escort her to the departure ceremony. They found her sitting on her bed, slowly tearing paper into tiny pieces. She was staring straight ahead, fixated on her dead cousin – who was trying to push his spilling intestines back into his mangled body. Her attendants couldn't see him.

When she reached the airfield, her father announced that he was going away forever. She would stay behind and become Firelord, while he became something greater.

_No you won't_, she thought. The long, nerve-wracking countdown had reached zero-hour: it was time for a final showdown with the Avatar. Azula had already realized that nothing good would ever happen again. Thus, as she watched her father leave her behind, she knew that she was seeing him for the last time.

He left her behind. He left a child to run his tumultuous and war-torn nation – a child all alone, with no guidance and no certain allies. Azula's terror finally pushed her over the edge.

They told her that she banished everyone around her. Azula didn't remember that part very well. They also said that she suffered from paranoid delusions, but she wondered if the truth wasn't something else entirely. Did she actually fear those people, or did she fear that she would win? Of her own accord, she made herself vulnerable, and gave her real enemies the perfect opportunity. When her brother came for her, he didn't have to fight through an army of guards. Instead he found her all by herself.

He wanted to rob her of her empty honor, and to steal her kingdom of dirt. How typical of Zuko, to want something for nothing, to expect the whole world to throw itself at his feet just because he was born. Ozai had named Azula his successor. The throne was hers by law and by right – if there was any right in superior talent, hard work, dedication, and loyalty.

Even in her weakness, at her moment of madness, he couldn't take her down. So he had someone else do it for him, thereby breaking the rules of Agni Kai. While a waterbender was profaning one of their culture's most sacred traditions, Zuko's other ally was beating down his father.

And so her brother – without any claim to special ability or good character – gained a crown. He had convinced the Fire Nation's greatest enemies to remove its king and princess, both of whom were legally appointed. Outsiders fought Zuko's battles for him, and cleared his path to the throne. In return, he was now subordinating his country's welfare to foreign interests.

He had hurt and betrayed everybody on both sides, and gotten exactly what he wanted at amazingly little cost to himself.

But Azula wasn't bitter. That would be hypocritical. They both played a game of thrones, and she had always known how high the stakes were. What bothered her most was how smug he must be, thinking that he had won. He didn't win, though. Not really. Because she had thrown the game.

*****

For long moments they all sat in heavy silence. Finally Lady Killer stirred and shattered the pensive mood.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What about the rest?"

"There is no 'the rest'. That's it."

He looked angry, though she wasn't sure why he should be. "That can't be it. You made us listen to all that, and you still haven't told us why you're here."

"But I did tell you. I'm here because I lost."

Now Innocent looked agitated. "You're serious? You never killed anyone? Or broke any laws?" His voice was low and disturbed.

Azula was starting to get irritated. "Are you all stupid, or just deaf? I told you everything. I'm not going to repeat myself."

"My god. I just- I never asked. I assumed that you were like all the rest. _Fuck_! I never even asked." Innocent's hands were curled into white-knuckled fists, and he had turned pale.

She shrugged. Azula couldn't see what his problem was. "Why would you? It doesn't change a thing. I'm here anyway, and it's not like you can do anything about it."

He shot her a strange look, but Lady Killer broke in before he could say anything else.

"This is so disappointing. I idolized you. I thought you were great and terrible, like our very own dark queen. But that was just pathetic."

"Pathetic? Because she's not a crazy, murderous bastard like you? I-"

"No, he's right. I _am_ pathetic." Azula felt like weeping. "I did go crazy, and if I didn't kill anyone, it wasn't for want of trying. And I couldn't even get the job done. What a joke! I always thought I was so special, but in the end I was completely incompetent. I'm nothing but an idiot."

"Maybe that's true," Innocent shot back, "but you're not a murderer, and you wouldn't be even if you had killed those two. Everyone was after the Avatar, and Prince Zuko too. They were at the very top of the most wanted list, and we were instructed to kill on sight. Hell, I wish I could have shot down the Avatar myself. He slaughtered my brother, and other good men – thousands of them."

"But-"

"And as for Zuko, the punishment for desertion is death. I had to execute two men under my command for deserting, and _they_ didn't plan join the enemy."

"But you don't understand. None of you do. I could be Firelord right now. I've thought about this a lot. There's no way that Zuko could have touched me: I had an army at my command. The same goes for the Avatar. If he wanted to depose me, he would have had to wipe out countless other lives. He would have tried to talk to me instead, and I would have talked back.

"At the North Pole, our navy was reduced to a fraction of its former size. And all those wrecked war balloons cost huge amounts of money. With a fully realized Avatar on the loose, there's no way that we could have kept on going like before. The war effort was dead. I'm not stupid. I would have negotiated. I would have tried to salvage what I could from the situation.

"All I had to do was hang on, and I would have been all right. But now, because of my weakness, our nation's fate is in Zuko's hands. He'll screw up. He always does. This is disastrous, and it's all my fault."

Lady Maker finally spoke up. "You said you made some big decision one night. What decision? What do you mean?"

Azula had been expecting this question. _You promised to tell them everything_, she reminded herself. A confession had no meaning unless you revealed the whole truth. So she took a deep breath, braced herself, and disclosed her deepest, most shameful secret.

Lady Maker seemed to have experience in these matters, so he pressed her for details. When she finished, he pursed his lips and whistled softly. "All at once? That will do it."

"There are certain shortcuts to revelation, and mysterious paths to glory. As you traveled them, did you see the light?"

"No, Prophet. I saw a lot of strange things, but there was no light. My life was dark."

"Were you treated for this?" Innocent asked. "After the Agni Kai, I mean."

"I don't know. I hardly remember anything. Just that nothing made sense, and I was chained down." And she had the scars to prove it. Azula unconsciously rubbed her wrist. "They must have drugged me at some point, because I woke up one day and I was here."

She was ready to drop the subject. This was difficult – and humiliating. Azula wanted them to stop looking at her, but Innocent kept pressing. "I still don't understand. How did you stand trial if you weren't competent?"

"There was no trial. At least, I don't think so."

"The Firelord sent you here? On his own initiative, without any court procedures? Why would he do that?"

The same question plagued her too. "He had to get me out of the way somehow, didn't he? I'm a danger to his throne."

"So your own brother locked you away in the dark? with dozens of violent criminals, and a pair of torturers for your keepers? That's disgusting."

"I'm sure he doesn't think of me as his sister anymore. We didn't exactly get along. I guess…I guess he wants to punish me."

Azula stared down into her empty bowl, and felt the old, familiar desolation grow sharp and fresh. If that was the case, then this was a cruel punishment. Zuko could be mean and petty, but he had never been _cruel_. Had she taught him that? If so, then it was one more mistake in a life full of mistakes.

"It's not punishment if it's not deserved. My sister makes fun of me all the time, and I don't get to throw her in prison. This is just some sick revenge."

Hearing the intensity in his voice, Azula looked up. Innocent gazed steadily back at her. "If what you say is true, then there's nothing right about it. You don't deserve this."

"I-" Azula's voice caught. She hastily took a sip of water to hide it. Some novel and powerful emotion was threatening to overwhelm her. After a fumbling moment, she found a name for it. It was _gratitude_.

Suddenly Azula was blinking rapidly, and she had to wipe at her nose with the back of her hand. "I'm…uh…a little hoarse from…from all the talking."

_No_. That wasn't good enough. Squaring her shoulders like the soldier she was, Azula looked Innocent straight in the eye and blurted, "Thank you."

Some knot deep inside – and not a small one – had just untwisted. He thought that it wasn't her fault. It wasn't absolution, exactly, but at least someone had taken her side. For once.

It was just a little relief in an excess of misery, but it made all the difference in the world. She had practiced her orator's craft, her tale was told, and it might prove to be her last performance. Lady Killer thought less of her, maybe the others did too. But one person had reached out and offered her what consolation he could.

Distress, pain, fear, embarrassment – she had braved all that just to open up a little bit to another human being. And it was worth it.


	16. Haunted

**Yay. Here it is – at long last. Since I'm on summer break now, the next chapter will be posted in a much more timely manner. I promise.**

**Also, thank you to everyone who took the time to review the last three chapters. I was worried about how Azula's story would turn out. Re-interpreting the entire series – while staying true to the character and events – took a lot of thought. Apparently I wasn't entirely off the mark, and I'm glad. Your input was much appreciated.**

**For those of you who asked about other characters, like Zuko and Innocent, you'll just have to wait and see…**

* * *

Chapter 16 – Haunted

When someone – or some_thing_ – passed across the mirror, Iroh knew that he was being haunted.

He glanced around and addressed the empty room. "Hello. Spirit? How may I help you?"

Nothing.

"Have I offended you?"

A cup dislodged itself from a nearby shelf and struck him in the back of the head.

Iroh rubbed his new sore spot and pondered this unexpected development. Something would have to be done. Ghosts were bad for business. And if this spirit got too snitty, it might start messing with his tea. A man had to protect the things he loved.

It all started when a picture on his wall came loose and fell down. Iroh re-attached it, and smiled gently. This was his favorite possession.

"There. You have been fixed." He wagged an admonishing finger. "Now stay put, or I will have to be angry." He turned away and laughed heartily at his own lie. What was there to be upset about? Life was good.

Before he had taken two steps, he heard the tell-tale clatter of a frame hitting the floor.

From that moment on, the picture always fell no matter what he did or where he put it. And the Mystery of the Precipitate Portrait was only the beginning. Everything at the tea shop was just a bit off. Mishaps occurred that couldn't really be explained, and the staff was jittery for no reason that anyone could quite put a finger on.

But the truly eerie part was reserved for him alone. The small, homely details of his life now seemed destined to come in three's.

One day he was balancing his account books rather absently. He reached for his tea, glanced back…and there was a neat row of three's on the last line. Had he done that? Iroh sighed and shook his head. He must be going senile.

But then he'd find three cups or three spoons on the counter. In the morning, there would be three shoes on his bedroom floor. Three wilted petals on his pillow, and three black smears on his desk. Three footprints, three open windows, three soft knocks in the dead of night.

Most recently, he was telling the charming Miss Bei Fong about the odd coincidences. She was picking between her toes and he was playing a card game. He placed one card on the table, then another, then three more. When he had five cards in a row, he rubbed his chin and gazed at them thoughtfully.

"What's wrong, Old Man?"

"Four three's. And the jester."

"Sounds like a message. Have you been playing the fool?"

Now that he was sure of the cause, there was nothing for it but to speak with this presence face-to-face. Iroh knew several ways to bring the inner eye into alignment with the spirit world, but one was by far his favorite.

"Oh, that's good." He slowly exhaled and filed away the name for future reference. _Purple Smoke Bender_ would definitely be making a reappearance.

Maybe he should offer some to his nephew? That young man needed to relax. He was more uptight than a virgin on her wedding night. But _no_. He would be horrified at his Old Uncle's harmless, little vice. Sad, really. He would never see the pretty colors…

From the psychedelic swirl of impossible patterns emerged a hand. Was this what he was waiting for? Iroh grasped the reaching fingers. There was a slight tug, and…

He was looking at Ursa.

They were standing in her bedroom at the palace, or what looked very much like her bedroom. She smiled thinly at him, and somehow made it look more like a threat. "Smoking up, Iroh? Why aren't I surprised? And you will _not_ offer any to my son."

_Uh oh_. Iroh sensed that she was seriously pissed off. For a moment he was surprised, but then he searched his own memory, looking past Zuko's fond, nostalgic reminiscence. The Dragon of the West suddenly felt a slight shudder run up his spine. This was the woman who had successfully crossed swords with Ozai for nearly fifteen years, and who had probably killed that fearsome old tyrant, his father Azulon.

Then there was the fact that she packed more firepower than a small fleet of heavily-armed battle cruisers.

"Ursa," he said heavily. The implications were starting to sink in. "You _are_ dead. I feared you might be." _What will I tell Zuko_?

"I am dead. Ozai couldn't afford to leave any witnesses. I knew that I was signing my death warrant that night." She paused. "And Zuko doesn't need to know. This isn't about him."

"He's not in any danger, then?" Iroh was relieved. He had assumed that was the reason for this odd visit.

"Zuko's fine," she snapped. "Aren't you forgetting about someone?"

"I didn't think so." He kept his voice mild. How did you deal with a temperamental ghost? Best to tread carefully. "But you're angry. Have I done something wrong?"

"More wrong than you can even know." Ursa locked eyes with him, and Iroh felt the full weight of the grave pressing on his soul. He was transfixed: something important was about to happen.

"Listen to me, Iroh. I'm breaking the rules to be here. I'll be paying for this in coin that you can't even imagine. But it will be a small price for some peace. When you cross over, you come to know yourself. That's your reward – and your punishment. If you've mistreated somebody, or if you've left something undone, then it weighs on you, and there's nothing you can do to fix it."

"My sin must be very great, since you've come all this way just to warn me."

"Silly, self-absorbed princeling. You still haven't learned. Not really. This isn't about your favorite relative and it's certainly not about you."

"Then what?"

"Out of our whole house, you're the only adult left. This is your responsibility – whether you want it or not. We don't always get to choose our duties. Now watch. And listen."

Ursa turned away, and delivered a parting shot over her shoulder "You might learn something, _if_ it's not too much trouble for a lazy, self-satisfied stoner."

Spirits! How had he forgotten about her sharp tongue? Or her occasional bursts of subtle malice? Iroh had always imagined that Zuko was like his mother, but right now he was reminded of…

With a sinking feeling, Iroh thought he finally knew what – or who – this was about.

Sure enough, a very tiny Azula suddenly threw the door open.

"Mother, I'm ready for my birthday party." She marched into the room with her back ramrod straight and her arms crossed over her chest.

Ursa was sitting at her vanity. She turned toward her daughter, looking amused. "Mother? What happened to 'Mama'?"

"I decided that I am too old now." Azula flicked an imaginary piece of dust off her sleeve. "It is beneath my dignity."

Ursa was clearly trying hard not to laugh. "And here I thought you were auditioning for _The Braggart Soldier_. I guess this means you're too old for hugs."

Azula froze and looked distressed. Her mother finally laughed and held out her arms. "Even mighty generals hug their mothers. But I promise I won't tell anyone."

When Azula came running, Ursa scooped her up and settled her on her lap. "I see you're all ready. Look at how pretty you are!" She kissed her daughter's cheek.

"Well, I don't know. I don't think the servants did my hair right."

"Again? I guess I'll have to fix that." Ursa swiftly brushed and re-tied Azula's hair. Azula herself looked pleased as a purring kitten. "There. Nobody does hair as well as Mama, do they?"

"Nope." Azula ran hands over her sleek locks, and tilted her face up. "Special kiss."

The two rubbed noses, then rested their foreheads together. They stayed like that for a long, quiet moment, and for that moment they were happy with each other.

Ursa broke the silence. "I have a surprise for you. I'm going to give you a special gift, right now while we're alone." She pulled a cord hanging nearby, and a maid soon appeared. Ursa gave a curt command.

When the girl had disappeared once more, Ursa looked down at Azula. "Now honey, they're going to bring something in and I don't want you to look until I say so."

Azula immediately covered her eyes with her hands. "Don't worry. I won't peek." She sounded smug.

Ursa put her own hands over Azula's eyes and turned them both around. "I know you. Of course you'll peek."

A side door burst open and suddenly there was a flurry of activity. The servants set down a tiny table and four chairs, which were lavishly carved from exotic woods. In each of the chairs sat a doll, exquisitely rendered. Every doll wore the costume of one of the four nations. The outfits were lovingly embellished down to the smallest detail. On the table they put a lovely and delicate tea set. A trunk was placed nearby. The whole ensemble glimmered with accents of precious metal and stones. It was clearly an antique, and must have been worth a small fortune.

Once they were alone again, Ursa turned them back around and said, "Ready?", then removed her hands.

Azula's face was lit up with happy expectation, but it swiftly fell. "Dollies." Her voice was flat and stony. She got up and slowly walked toward the table, inspecting everything carefully. She was fairly radiating disappointment – and something harder and stormier. When she looked back to her mother, Azula's hands were balled into tiny fists at her sides. "I told you I don't like dolls."

"But sweetie, look." Ursa knelt beside the trunk and threw it open. She pulled out a lovely, silken dress. "The dolls have other outfits too. All kinds of beautiful clothes for you to play with – and hats and shoes and jewelry and fans and things."

Azula was wearing a massive pout.

Ursa was getting desperate. "I used to play with this, and so did my mother and grandmother and _her_ mother and grandmother. It's been in our family for generations, and now I'm giving it to you. And we can have tea parties. Look at how nice the table settings are!"

"Tea parties?"

"Of course. You have to learn all about proper etiquette so that you can entertain your family and friends. Maybe someday you can even serve tea for your grandfather."

Now Azula was practically vibrating with rage. "I'm not serving tea for anyone!"

"But you will. That's how you show that your parents raised you well, and impress your husband's family."

"Zuzu doesn't have to serve tea!"

"Zuko is a boy, and someday he'll be a very important official. It's his place to be served by others, and your place to serve. And don't call him Zuzu. You know how much that bothers him."

"He calls me names all the time! And he isn't better than me. I'm not serving tea if he doesn't have to." Azula stamped her foot for good measure.

"We've been over this before. Different people have different roles in life. You have to accept that and start acting in a way that will bring pride to your family." Ursa's voice had a slight edge.

Azula ignored the warning signs and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm going to be a great general. What's better than that? Everyone will be proud of me."

"Young Lady, how many times have I told you to stop talking like that? It's unnatural and embarrassing. Why would you even want to do such a thing?"

"Because it's better. Uncle Iroh is a general and he has statues. The Firelord has statues and even Daddy. No one wants a statue of you, or Aunt Mang or Grandma Kyo."

Ursa sat down at the vanity and started brushing her hair with long, vicious strokes. "Your Aunt and Grandmother and I are just as important as anyone else in our family. Everyone respects and honors us, because we know our proper place and fulfill our duties."

"Then why do you have to serve tea?"

"And you're never going to be a general or even a soldier, so there's no point in having this argument."

"That's not true! Daddy says I can."

Ursa paused, and her hold on the brush turned into a white-knuckled death grip. "Azula, your father doesn't always tell the truth. The sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be."

Azula went pale, tried to speak, stopped and started three times before she succeeded. "You…You're just saying that because you don't like him." Her voice quavered slightly. "Daddy said you don't like him."

"Of course I love your father." Ursa stared straight into the mirror and incanted the words tonelessly, like a lesson learned by heart. "We always love the men in our lives, even when we don't."

"And he said it's your fault I'm not a boy."

Ursa's jaw dropped. She whipped around and stared at her daughter in stunned disbelief. "He…I…"

Azula threw back her head and screeched. "I knew it! I knew it! You did it on purpose!"

Her mother clearly didn't know whether to laugh or explode. She settled on an exaggerated eye roll. "Infant. Now you're being stupid. And you shouldn't want to be a boy anyway. You should be a happy little girl, like everyone else. You are the most perverse child I've ever seen."

"I am not…um…perversed."

"I said 'perverse', not 'perverted'. I guess you don't know everything yet."

Azula's chest was heaving and her face was beet red. It looked like she was on the verge of a screaming childhood meltdown. "I don't want you to come to my party. This is my special day and you ruined it. You ruin my life."

"There's not going to be a birthday party," Ursa snapped savagely. "I'm going to tell all your guests that they have to go home because you're having a temper tantrum like a spoiled baby."

"That's not fair. You hate Daddy so you hate me too."

"Of course I don't hate you, Azula. And I don't like punishing you-"

"Liar!"

Ursa's voice cracked like a whip. "You will never call me a liar again!"

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, then knelt down in front of Azula. Her speech was low and earnest. "Listen to me, sweetie. I don't know what game your father is playing this time, but what he says isn't true. You're not a man and you can't act like one. I'm telling you this for your own good. No one likes a little girl who forgets where she belongs, and it doesn't matter how brave or talented you are. In fact, the better you are, the more they'll resent you and tear you down. You'll never be anything but a freak and an outcast, and you'll be alone. Then someday they'll find a way to trip you up for good, and it will be disastrous.

"I know you think you want something different and exciting, but you need to accept your path. I promise you'll get used to it. Patience and endurance will be your virtue and your glory."

Suddenly Ursa was blinking back tears. "Now do what your mother tells you and behave yourself."

Azula stared straight back and slowly leveled an accusing finger at the older woman. For a second past and present collapsed, so that Iroh thought he saw the great conqueror of Ba Sing Se – the lady of giant strength and huge ambitions, who walked with lightning in her eyes and sparks at her heals.

"No."

At that one syllable, Ursa rocked back and looked stunned. What did you say to such stupid resolve and brilliant arrogance?

Then the illusion collapsed and Azula was only a small child after all. She stomped out the door and slammed it behind her.

She opened it again and glared at Ursa. "Your dollies are stupid!" Once more the door swung shut with a bang.

Again. "And so are tea parties!"

Azula slammed the door three more times for good measure, then she was gone.

One, ragged sob escaped her mother's lips. Candles all over the room flared up and pulsed in time to her rage.

Iroh heard a disembodied voice whisper in his ear. "I wanted her to obey me like I always obeyed my family."

In front of him, Ursa kicked one of the tiny chairs.

"That wasn't good enough for her."

She picked up the teapot and threw it against her mirror, where both shattered into dozens of tiny shards.

"I liked Zuko for the same reason you do. He made me feel good about myself."

She opened the trunk and started tearing up the costly silks.

"Azula challenged me constantly. She didn't understand my cowardice."

Ursa pulled a sword from its sheath and, with one sure swing, split the table in two.

"She wanted me to be better than I was."

One ancient and priceless doll was ground to pieces underfoot.

"My daughter was stronger and braver than me, and I resented it."

Ursa lifted another doll and glared as the dainty, frivolous thing burned to cinders in her clenched fist.

"I don't know which of us was worse. Me or Ozai."

The world tilted crazily around him, and suddenly Iroh was in the royal garden.

He recognized his brother's tall, strong back just in front of him. Beside him stood an older, squatter man. Iroh searched his memory. It was Captain Yihao, who had been training the royal children for decades. Just beyond them, little Azula was practicing her firebending.

"She's really amazing," Yihao was saying. "What a waste. It's too bad the boy isn't such a quick learner."

"Is it?"

"Well, you're right. He'll be fine. If he weren't so damned bull-headed he'd be almost as good. But he'll grow out of it, and someday that stubbornness will be put to good use."

"You misunderstand me. I meant, 'Is it too bad?'."

"Uh…Sir, you lost me."

"Tell me, do you ever read reports from our domestic departments? Education, Corrections, Labor and the like?"

"No. Only military reports."

"Information is power, Captain, and you never know what information will prove most useful. Did you know that men are ten times more likely to be convicted of crime?"

"No…"

"And that girls consistently outperform boys at all school levels?"

"Really?"

"You've seen the military statistics. Surely you notice that women in the service are almost never accused of insubordination."

"I never really thought about it."

"Do you know why all this is true? Do you know what special quality women possess? Why Azula is progressing so much faster than Zuko?"

"Er…"

"Obedience, Captain. They're obedient."

"This is all very interesting, but I still don't know what you mean."

"It means that you should never look a gift horse in the mouth." Ozai held up his hand dismissively. "Enough. Leave us."

Ozai glanced around before he approached Azula. _Checking for witnesses_. As soon as the thought popped into his head, Iroh knew it was correct.

Azula was just ending her last form. She immediately turned to her father. "Daddy, did you see me?"

"Yes, I was watching."

"Did you see all the way from the beginning? Did you see how I-"

"Yes, I saw everything. You were almost perfect."

Azula's face lost some of its happiness. A small line of anxiety formed between her eyebrows. "Almost?"

"Well, it was good enough for most people. But not for my special warrior."

She looked awed. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course. Someday I'll send you out on missions, and you'll fight glorious battles for me and for your country. Would you like that?"

"Yes yes yes!" Her body was shaking from head to toe.

"But you have to be better than good. You have to be the best. Are you sure you can do that? It will be difficult."

Azula stood to attention and snapped off a military salute. Looking as serious and earnest as only a small child can, she recited a line from the oath of service. "A soldier knows want: I pledge my hunger, my thirst, my poverty. A soldier knows sacrifice: I pledge my toil, my pain, my suffering. A soldier knows death: I pledge my body, my heart, my breath."

"Excellent. I didn't expect anything less from you." Azula beamed. "Now show me your last form again so that we can fix it."

She did so. Her movements were fluid and graceful. Lovely. At the moment, Azula didn't have a target or a mission, only delight. She was simply dancing in the garden, and it was clear that she had always understood what Zuko still failed to grasp: the master firebender wasn't just a fighter, but an athlete and an artist.

"Stop."

Azula held her pose while Ozai made some minute adjustments to her stance. What was he up to? If there was anything wrong with her technique, Iroh couldn't see it. But then, his brother did know firebending like few men alive.

"Do you see what I just did?"

"Um, yes." She was lying.

"Then do it again."

Once more, Azula performed flawlessly and elegantly. No sooner had she slid into her final position, than Ozai's hand shot out and struck her heavily across the face. She sat down hard and stared up at him with shocked eyes, too hurt and confused to know how to react.

"Azula, why should I waste my time and effort on you if you won't listen?"

The tears finally broke loose and slid down her cheeks. Azula jumped up, wrapped her arms around her father, and buried her face in his robes. The cloth muffled her voice as she spoke through great, hiccupping sobs. "Daddy,please please please don't be mad. I _am_ listening. I'll do better, I promise. I'll try so hard. I want to be your special warrior. Please please please."

"Do you promise? Do you promise to do what I say?"

"Yes. I promise. I promise."

"You'll always do what I say? All the time and forever?"

"Always."

Ozai smiled. "You will, won't you? I think you'll do just fine."

The sobs subsided after a few minutes. Ozai gave her a perfunctory pat on the head, as if he were petting a dog.

"Now why don't you try your form again."

"Okay."

Before she turned away, Azula blew her nose on Ozai's robes. He looked like a man who had just stepped in a pile of rhino dung.

This time her movements were precisely the same as before, but now they were hard and flat. A certain, indefinable something was missing, the something that had made her such a pleasure to watch: joy.

The second she was done, Azula's head swiveled around so she could look at Ozai. She was obviously holding her breath in an agony of suspense.

"There. I knew you could do it." Azula visibly relaxed. "And since you did so well, I think you should come watch the council meeting. It will be instructive, and I'll show you where you can hide."

She skipped to his side. When she got there, she extended her hand and waited for him to take it. Ozai just looked at her.

"Do soldiers hold hands with their commanders?"

Azula looked mortified. "No, Daddy."

"No, _Sir_."

"No, Sir."

Ozai walked into the palace, and Azula practically marched as she followed a step behind.

Once more, time and space bent around Iroh. He settled in to watch as the scenes played themselves out before him

.o0o.

Azula hadn't counted on her father coming to her room. He almost never did that. She didn't find out what he wanted, though, because the second he walked through the door he sneezed.

He paused, looking shocked at his own undignified behavior.

Then he sneezed again.

"Azula, where is it?"

He was angry, and she was frozen with fear.

"Where is it?" Ozai walked swiftly to her closet door and yanked it open. When he turned back to her, he was holding a kitten-puppy in one hand. Her new pet was whimpering and shaking. She had named him _Zuzu_.

Her father knelt down in front of her. She could see that his eyes were turning red and watery. "Azula, what did I tell you about animals?"

She forced the words through stiff lips. "You said 'no animals', because you're allergic."

"And where did you get this?"

"Mai's house."

"You stole it, didn't you?"

"I…um…" Why were her lies failing her now, of all times?

"Did you pay them or not?"

"No."

"You're a thief."

"I don't think they even noticed. They have a whole bunch of them."

"Of course they noticed. Panther-hounds are expensive. They just didn't say anything because you're royalty. _Fuck_." Azula's fear blossomed into full-blown terror. Her father never used profanity: it was coarse and vulgar. "I'll have to pay them and apologize."

Ozai was practically hissing in his fury. "I can't remember the last time I was so embarrassed. A member of my own family…a petty thief. You're a Princess of the Line of Sozin, not some pathetic, lowlife street thug. If you were a peasant, you would hang for this. You will never do anything so disgusting again. Will you?"

Azula was having a hard time talking.

"Will you!"

She desperately shook her head 'no'.

"You had better not." He held the puppy in front of her face. "I don't need a daughter who will disgrace me, disgrace herself, and disgrace our entire house."

Then he squeezed his big, powerful fist. Zuzu's agonized squealing mostly drowned out the sound of cracking bones. Ozai stood up and threw the twitching body on the floor at her feet.

"I can have more children, Azula. Always remember that." He nudged the bloody heap with his toe. And since I have to go clean up your mess, it's only fair that you clean up this one. Get rid of it."

Her father walked away, and Azula was left staring down at the tiny corpse.

.o0o.

Mai and Azula were sitting beside a small pool, looking wilted and languid in the summer heat.

"Do you want to come over tomorrow?" Azula was saying. "I should be free after lunch."

"There's this thing I have to do. I'm pretty sure Mom won't let me go."

Azula looked at Mai out of the corner of her eye. "My brother will be there. And Ty Lee too."

"Well, I guess it won't hurt to ask…"

.o0o.

"She's impossible."

"She's difficult."

"Willful."

"A brat."

"We want a raise!"

Through the curtains, Azula watched as her new caregivers, Li and Lo, haggled with her father over their salary. Later on, she had cookies for dinner right in front of them and they didn't say a word, because they didn't care.

.o0o.

The day after the funeral ceremony, when she was sure that nobody would see, Azula went to her cousin's empty grave in the family tomb. There she burned a candle for him.

Lu Ten had given her a sword for her birthday.

.o0o.

Azula looked on from a tree as Zuko and Mother fed the turtle ducks. They hadn't invited her.

.o0o.

One night she saw a woman walk out of her father's bedroom. Azula decided not to tell her mother.

.o0o.

Zuko didn't want to play with Azula, so she told him that Mai and Ty Lee would be there.

.o0o.

Zuko and Azula were eating lunch with their mother. Ursa and Azula didn't say a word to each other.

.o0o.

Ty Lee didn't want to play with Azula, so she told her that Mai and Zuko would be there.

.o0o.

She couldn't stand to look in the mirror anymore.

.o0o.

Zuko said that everyone hated her.

.o0o.

Her best wasn't good enough.

.o0o.

She ate alone. Again.

.o0o.

Azula examined her uncle's present: another doll she didn't want.

She glanced over her shoulder. Zuko was admiring his new knife. THE Knife, surrendered by the general of Ba Sing Se! It would be a treasured family heirloom for as long as their house endured.

She turned back to the doll. It looked cheap and common, like it was bought off a street vendor for a copper piece.

Once again, Azula felt the corrosive ache of disappointment, hurt, and jealousy – an ache so constant and familiar that she almost didn't notice anymore. Almost.

She held the doll and glared as the shoddy, vulgar thing burned to cinders in her clenched fist.

Azula let the ash fall to the floor and stared down at it. In hindsight, it seemed symbolic: like she was gazing at the crumbled ruins of her life and love, of all her hopes and bright expectations.

She felt a light touch on her shoulder. "Honey, someone's here to see you."

Azula looked up. There was her mother, and…Uncle Fatso? For a second she was confused. This wasn't how it happened. But then she realized that she must be having another weird dream.

She shrugged listlessly. "If you say so." What was the point of taking an interest? This wasn't real.

Another comforting touch. "Honey, I can't ask for you. I can't break that rule. Only you can do it."

"Ask for what?" Azula thought she knew.

"I think you know."

_She wants me to ask for help_. Well, Azula wasn't going to do it, even in a dream. Not from Iroh. She hadn't sunk so far that she would go crawling to someone who would just kick her while she was down.

"Please, Azula." Her mother was starting to looked strained and desperate. "I think you're misjudging your uncle."

Azula fixed her stare on Iroh. He looked troubled. "No I'm not. I know exactly how he values me: he spent a copper on me once. I doubt he'd spend a second one."

"Why not just do it? This is only a dream."

"Then why bother?"

"You'll feel better."

"Bullshit."

Ursa had tears in her eyes. "All right. All right. But at least show your uncle how the story ends. He's already seen the rest."

Suddenly they were in Azula's bathroom. An invisible tug, an irresistible pull, drew her to the sink. Slowly, unwillingly, she reached down and pulled the hidden lever, the one that opened the very secret drawer.

As she gazed at the contents, it seemed to be happening all over again. This was where her heart had finally cracked in two and refused to go on.

"Tell him how you felt, Sweetie."

Azula clutched her chest. Hot tears started leaking out the corners of her eyes. "I-" How did she feel? How did you feel when all the daily burdens and small torments of an unhappy life became too much to bear? How did you describe that? "I…I felt sad."

"So what did you do?"

"I decided to stop taking my medicine."

"Then what happened?"

_I saw things._

_Nothing made sense._

_I was scared all the time._

_I felt lighting in my head._

_I threw up._

_I shook._

_I hurt._

_I was on fire._

_I was trapped in ice._

"I was sick."

Reality blinked. Awareness was stirring somewhere in the back of Azula's mind. Suddenly she thought she heard the distant tramp of booted feet, and her ribs hurt where she had been kicked. Her back, her shoulder, her wrist, her leg - they all began to throb from recent abuse. As the pain became sharper and more real, her present surroundings seemed less and less solid.

She shifted uneasily. "I have to go. They're coming."

Iroh finally spoke. "Is someone hurting you, Azula?"

She looked at her arm, where a dramatic bruise had just appeared. She must look like hell.

Azula met his searching gaze straight on. "No. I'm fine."

Then he disappeared, and her mother, and all the world around them. Azula opened her eyes just in time to see her cell door swinging open.

.o0o.

Ursa and Iroh looked at the empty spot where Azula had just been standing. She turned to him and jabbed his chest with a pointed finger.

"Find Azula," she hissed, "or I'll haunt you for eternity. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Now Iroh sensed that he too was leaving the spirit world. As the palace faded to nothing, the last thing he saw was Ursa's bared teeth, and the last thing he heard was her final warning.

"How does castration sound?"

Back in his snug little teashop, Iroh drank some water and waited for his head to clear. Then he made his way to the portrait. It had fallen again.

He had always thought of it as 'his picture of Lu Ten and Zuko'. But, in truth, there was another person in the drawing: Lu Ten, Zuko…and Azula. The three children of the royal house.

The third and smallest gazed out at him across the miles and years. She was sitting a little apart from the other two, as she had always been apart from them in life. What was she thinking? The expressionless portrait face didn't give the smallest indication.

What was it that Ursa had called him? Lazy and self-satisfied? She was right. It had never occurred to him to wonder what was going on in Azula's head. He had always assumed that there was nothing there.

Which just went to show you that even old men didn't know everything.

Iroh sighed and hung up the picture once more. He suspected that it would stay put from now on. In the morning he would begin his preparations: it was time for a visit to his nephew. Zuko could tell him where Azula was. He had mentioned it before, but Iroh hadn't bothered to remember.

But first he had a tricky set of negotiations to get through. State affairs were at a crucial juncture and simply couldn't be put off, not even for this. It might take a week, at most. Then he would look into Azula's condition, before Ursa decided to do something unspeakable.

After all, Azula had already been there for months – wherever she was. What difference could a few days make?


	17. Concerning Azula

**Greetings, all. For some reason there was an explosion of reviews after the last chapter, and I'd like to thank everybody who took the time to leave one. You've made a wretched and overworked grad student very happy. I wish I could have rewarded you with a faster update, but I just learned the hard way that you can't be inspired all the time. I spent more time on this chapter than any of the others, and I think it might be the least successful.**

**Also, I've recently received more than one review which basically stated that I've turned Azula into a noble victim. One person even claimed that my story had turned into a "bashfic". I assume plenty of readers are thinking the same thing, even if they didn't say as much in a review. Since this issue has major implications for my story, I thought it might be worthwhile to explain myself. Feel free to skip ahead to the chapter if you're not interested.**

**The sum of my defense is this: please don't confuse me with the characters. If I wanted to tell you what to think about them, I would have written an essay. I thought that fiction offered a more interesting and complicated venue for character exploration, but fiction has certain constraints. **

**This story focuses on Azula's perspective, and good fiction demands that a character's voice stays in character. To tell a story from Azula's point of view, I have to ask myself what she would think or say, and then write accordingly. I'm only "bashing" another character if you assume that I agree with Azula's opinion. **

**Remembering point-of-view is especially important in chapters 13-15, where she's actually the narrator. In those chapters, her version of events is the one most favorable to herself. Of course. She's trying to justify her actions.**

**And of course she justifies everything she did. If she didn't have reasons for her actions, why would she have done them to begin with? The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and nobody has ever believed that they're evil. Hitler certainly didn't. By giving her a past and believable motives, I've made her a real person. I haven't necessarily made her a better person. **

**Also remember that all human communication is calculated. Which is to say, all speech aims at a certain effect. Chapter 16 definitely has a persuasive goal. Ursa is orchestrating the encounter in the spirit world. She wants Iroh to help Azula. And you can try to defend Iroh all you want, but it's painfully obvious in the cartoon that he's written her off as a hopeless cause. He's clearly not inclined to help Azula one bit. How will Ursa get him to change his mind? She needs him to see Azula as a person, not as a sub-human monster. To do that, she chooses events which are calculated to help him understand and empathize with Azula. The events explain Azula. They only excuse her to the extent that you think her upbringing justifies her behavior.**

**In the end, I'm just offering an alternate interpretation, one that privileges an underprivileged character. I'm not telling you that you have to buy it. Exactly what constitutes truth, falsehood, right, wrong, justification, delusion, etc. – you'll have to decide that for yourself. I've chosen to concentrate on Azula's point of view. If that's distorting, then I argue that it's no more distorting than the cartoon – which never gives her a voice at all.**

**One last point: Azula controls how we view the OC's. In the first chapter, for example, the Doctor seems reasonably intelligent. If he doesn't seem so later, that's because _Azula_ thinks he's incompetent. But then, just about everyone is incompetent compared to Azula. She makes even Long Feng look like a bumbling wannabe. Needless to say, she's going to chew up and spit out a petty tyrant like Doctor Soong, who's lording it over a few dozen crazy people.**

**One thoughtful review pointed out – quite rightly – that we're supposed to resist labeling Azula as "insane" or "criminal" or as a "monster". However, everyone else in the asylum falls neatly into those categories. And again, I say that this is because Azula herself thinks of them that way. It's characteristic of her narcissism and self-absorption that she thinks she's perfectly justified, but she dismisses everyone around her as wrong or inconsequential.**

**If there's a lesson to be learned here, Azula will have to discover it on her own time and say it in her own way. I'm not going to insert myself like the voice of god and point out that Azula is missing the obvious. The same is true for all of the characters.**

**Sorry for the essay! But if somebody takes the time and effort to write a critical review, I feel like I should respond. And I couldn't think of a quick and easy way to say all this.**

* * *

Chapter 17 – Concerning Azula

Iroh probed the wooden cabinet beneath Azula's sink. The palace was full of hidden places – for those who knew where to look. It was their home, after all, and the royal family had always liked its secrets.

This secret wasn't hard to discover. He soon found the lever and opened the concealed drawer. Here was his proof: the spirit world encounter hadn't been just a pipe dream.

Iroh examined the contents with a practiced eye. He saw drugs for sleeping and drugs for waking up, for rousing and soothing and leveling out. He saw drugs for killing pain and dulling worry and numbing emotion. He saw everything, in short, that was needed to create artificial balance in a badly unbalanced person.

How long had this been going on? Iroh thought that it might have been a long time. Her eyes had been clear in the spirit world – clearer than he could remember them being.

And did she stop taking them all at once? _Spirits_. That must have been a wild tear. In his own foolish and headlong youth, Iroh had experienced withdrawal first hand. He remembered the crippling sickness, the burning need, the way reality seemed to come undone around him, when it was actually his own mind that was unraveling. He remembered hallucinations, and violent, senseless mood swings which were like madness.

Iroh sighed and slid the drawer shut. He heard a small "click" as the latch caught, then Azula's secret was safe once more from prying eyes.

Back in his own room, Iroh reluctantly pondered _The_ _Azula Problem_. What was to be done with her? If the girl was being mistreated, she would obviously have to be moved. But to where? And how much would he have to involve himself after that? He was an old man, in the winter of his life. Would he spend the rest of his days fixing Ozai's mistakes?

He tried to imagine babysitting Azula day after day for the next several years – Azula, whom he had never liked, and whom he trusted about as much as he would trust a hungry shark-serpent. The mind rebelled.

For a moment, Iroh longed to just drop the matter and go back to his beloved tea shop. But that simply wasn't an option. Ursa was a scary woman. A very scary woman.

Well, first things first. Before he made a decision, he would have to find Azula and assess the situation. He needed to talk to Zuko as soon as possible. Or, better yet, right after dinner. The Firelord was notoriously touchy about his sister, and this old general knew the value of proper preparation. Before a difficult siege, it was helpful to undermine the enemy's resolve.

Iroh, Zuko, and Mai ate outside in the garden. Ty Lee, who was visiting from Kyoshi Island, was also there. At the moment she was doing handstands nearby, while the rest of them finished their wine and picked at a tray of fruit.

Seeing that Zuko's glass was empty, Iroh stealthily refilled it.

Despite Iroh's best efforts, the beauty of the night, and the presence of his loved ones, the young monarch was stiff with tension, and a deep line was etched between his eyebrows. He mostly sat in distracted silence while the rest of them carried the conversation.

During a lull, Iroh finally decided to draw him out. Zuko wouldn't relax until he got it off his chest, whatever it was.

"Nephew, a problem is like any burden. It becomes lighter when shared."

His suggestion was met with a short, sharp bark of laughter. "Exactly which problem are you wondering about? There are so many to choose from."

"Which one is keeping you from your favorite uncle and your lovely lady?" And Mai did look lovely. Since the war ended, her hairstyle had become less severe, her outfits more revealing. It was a softer Mai who was sitting beside Zuko – sitting so close that they were almost touching.

"It's nothing. It's not worth ruining dinner over."

Mai ran a caressing hand along Zuko's forearm. "Your uncle is here. We should pick his brains while we have the chance. I'd like to hear his opinion." Appearances were deceiving, after all. Mai might look tender, but she was all business as usual, and the hard edge in her voice betrayed a shrewd and unsentimental mind.

She looked at Iroh and explained. "He had another bad day in the senate. Those jackal-vultures are fighting tooth and nail to keep what they can."

"I want to impose a tax on luxury imports. I mean – I have to tax something. War loot isn't funding the treasury anymore."

Iroh saw the difficulties right away. "You have a long fight ahead of you, nephew."

"Can't you just tell them why you need to do it? Everyone will understand." There was Ty Lee, who was currently sitting cross-legged on the grass. She had one hand extended, and was clearly trying to coax a nearby lightning-bug to land on it.

"Oh, they understand all right," said Zuko bitterly. "The nobles understand that they're the ones who will end up paying. They understand that if I impose one tax on them, I might impose another. But the money's not the issue. Not really. They're just afraid that I'll start inspecting their cargoes."

"Hmmm…" Iroh wasn't sure if the little hum was a question, or if Ty Lee was just pleased that the lightning-bug had flown to her finger.

Zuko evidently decided on 'question', because he kept talking. "The shipping companies are owned by noble clans. They've always been allowed to run wild. Hell, they're basically the biggest, badest, most organized pirates in the world. They openly deal in stolen goods and contraband, and nobody cares. Some of it's not so bad, like Water Tribe furs and Earth Kingdom wine. But then there's the drugs, the weapons…" Zuko twitched "…the people."

Now angry heat was boiling off him in great waves. "I want that fucking money, and I want to see what's in those fucking ships."

"I don't think they'll let you do that." Ty Lee was calmly braiding grass into a wreath. "Why don't you start with something a little easier?"

"That's what I said," Mai interjected. "Zuko, I can think of a dozen other ways to raise money. There's no reason why you have to do this right now. It's an impossible fight."

"Is it impossible?" Zuko's voice held an odd quiver. Suddenly he slammed his glass down on the table. "Because apparently Azula's already done it."

At the sound of her name, a pall stole over the group and stifled the pleasant atmosphere. They sat hushed and frozen, like people who sensed the storm and were waiting for lightning to strike. As the tense seconds stretched into a small eternity, Iroh marveled at Azula's sheer presence, which was so crushing even in memory.

Mai finally broke the silence, but her voice was low and subdued. "Gods, this too? I'm sorry, Zuko. I didn't know. Azula was always so secretive. She wouldn't tell you anything unless you had to know it."

"You already said 'sorry'. And I already told you it's not your fault."

Iroh was missing something. "I seem to be missing something."

"After my coronation, I put a hold on Azula's official acts. I didn't want anything to go into effect unless I approved it. But it was a mistake. A huge mistake."

"It seems like a wise thing to do."

"No, dammit! It was stupid. I didn't realize at the time how much she had done. Azula is everywhere: legislation, appointments, impeachments, court decisions, money allocations. There's nothing she didn't have a hand in. Cancelling all of it has created chaos, and the nobles are taking advantage of the situation to block anything they didn't like. The worst part is, most of it was good. Really good. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to push it through again."

"So she already passed an import tax?"

"That, and she drafted a plan for implementing cargo checks. But there's more." Zuko paused for effect. "Satoru co-signed the bill."

Mai forgot her usual poise and gasped in surprise. Iroh couldn't blame her: he still wasn't sure he had heard right. "You mean the shipping magnate?"

"Yes, _that_ Satoru: the dirty old pirate who's now leading the opposition. You think that's impressive? Wei Min supported a law that limits industrial waste, and Kang underwrote debt relief for tenant farmers."

Iroh was astounded, but Mai suddenly seemed knowing instead of surprised. "She was targeting people who could be counted on to offer the strongest resistance. That's just like Azula. She would have seen it as a challenge, and I'm sure she enjoyed jerking them around."

"What I want to know is, how did she do it?"

"Threats," Mai said.

"Violence," Ty Lee said.

"Intimidation."

"Promises."

"Bribery."

"Lies."

"Flattery."

"Dirty Dealing."

"Bluffing."

"Backstabbing."

"Blackmail." Mai had thoughtful gleam in her eye. "She always did make it a point to know everything about everybody."

"Ah, yes. The marvelous intelligence network. That would be useful…if it even existed." Zuko muttered the last part under his breath.

Mai heard anyway. The subject must have come up before, because she rolled her eyes and looked irritated. "They're _spies_, Zuko. They're not going to jump up-and-down in front of you and volunteer for duty."

"Maybe they should," he shot back. "If they'll work for a nutcase, I don't see why they won't work for me."

"_Don't_." The rare intensity in Ty Lee's voice stopped them all. "Don't call her names. Azula was really smart, and good at her job. Everyone said so." Iroh thought she sounded as strained as the rest of them felt.

"Right. Everyone says so. And they remind me every day." Zuko looked away and took a deep breath. When he looked back, his face was bleak. "Sometimes I think my father was right: Azula did get all the talent. She's the one who was born to rule."

"_No_." It was Mai's turn to be earnest. "Azula was so busy playing heir to the throne, that she forgot to be a human being. Or maybe she never learned to begin with. Don't wish that on yourself, Zuko."

He looked like he was about to object, but Mai interrupted. "_No_. Zuko, listen. With Azula, every moment was a battle, and every day was a war. She'd go miles to gain an inch, and fight like a cornered animal just to claw out a tiny advantage. There wasn't a line she wouldn't cross if she thought she needed to.

"She couldn't see anything, hear anything, do anything without thinking fifty steps ahead. The way she saw the world, nothing was free or sacred, and everyone was a pawn to use or an opponent to crush. That's the price she paid to be the master strategist, that's how she outmaneuvered her enemies before they even realized they were her enemy.

"You can't imagine the standards she set, or the lengths she went to meet them, or the punishment she inflicted on herself when she fell short. You've already lasted longer than Azula did, and there's a reason for it."

Mai stopped, looked like she was about to say more, thought again. Iroh had never heard her speak so much at once, or speak with such animation. He found it strange that it was Azula – of all things – which had drawn so much emotion out of her.

Maybe she was surprised too. Her eyes had been locked with Zuko's throughout the entire outburst. Now Mai turned away suddenly and reached for her wineglass with a shaking hand. When she spoke again, however, her voice had regained its usual chilly restraint.

"Azula was always racing against herself. I guess she finally lost."

Ty Lee stood up abruptly. "I'm going to bed." Without another word, she turned her back on them and walked away.

They watched her leave in silence, and the night seemed more oppressive than ever. It was Mai who managed to lighten the heavy mood.

"I'd better be going too." She plucked a grape from the table and popped it into Zuko's mouth, where her finger lingered for a second longer than was strictly necessary. "I have to rub oil all over my body."

Zuko choked. Mai handed him his glass and pounded on his back. "It's for my skin regimen," she added. Her perfect deadpan never wavered.

She looked at Iroh with bold eyes, and shamelessly wished him goodnight – as if she hadn't just seduced his nephew right in front of him. As she strolled away, Mai brushed past Zuko and lightly scraped her nails across his scalp.

Zuko eyed her retreating back with the focused intensity of an eagle-hawk. He was a very young man, and no doubt enjoyed the sight of swaying hips and long, silky hair. But Iroh was admiring the way that Mai had calmed his difficult nephew with a single sentence and a slight touch. She was an astute and competent young woman.

He also wondered what her parents thought about the situation. They were notoriously conservative, and their daughter was sharing both the Firelord's home and his bed.

"Uncle, I know you wanted to talk to me, but can't it wait until tomorrow? I'm pretty tired."

Zuko had obviously forgotten about his problems for the moment. Iroh wished that he didn't have to bring them up again, especially since his plan didn't work. He had hoped that a pleasant dinner would make Zuko more generous, or at least slightly drunk. As it was, Iroh foresaw that this wouldn't go well.

"I'm sorry, nephew, but this is more important. Mai can wait."

"Are you insane? Did you hear what she just said?"

"It's about Azula."

An ugly look of irritation crossed Zuko's face. "Gods, not you too. Don't I hear enough?"

"Indulge a forgetful old man. Exactly where is she now?"

"With the other raving maniacs, where she belongs."

"_Does_ she belong there?"

"Is there a better place for people that sane people can't stand to be around?"

Iroh was disturbed. "Nephew, it's not kind to mock the ill. Even when it's Azula."

"It's hard not to after you've seen her howling like a chained monkey-dog."

Now Iroh was appalled. Zuko must have sensed it, because he had the grace to look ashamed. "I know, I know. It's just that if I didn't laugh about it, I would…I mean…I can't…You weren't here. It was _awful_."

In Zuko's stuttering speech, Iroh finally heard the deep emotion hiding behind the tasteless remarks. There was an issue here that had to be resolved. "I would understand better if you told me about it."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I think you do."

"Godsdammit! Don't tell me what I do or do not want to do! I said I don't want to talk about it, and I won't." After a second, Zuko dropped his head in his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't mean it."

"I know. I know that sometimes our feelings seem too powerful for words, like a torrent pouring through a narrow channel. But the flood must be let out. Tell me about Azula."

"Azula…"

"Yes?"

"Azula wasn't doing well." Zuko took a few deep breaths. "She was completely out of control. We had to keep her restrained all the time. At first we were worried that she would hurt other people, but after the first night we realized that that we were worrying about the wrong thing. The bindings were adjusted so she wouldn't hurt herself. She could barely move.

"That didn't stop her from trying. She thrashed around so much that her skin was getting torn up beneath the restraints. She actually dislocated her own shoulder once.

"And feeding her was…it was an ordeal. I thought I saw a lot of really bad things during the war, but I never saw a nightmare come to life – not until I saw a group of armored men holding down my sister and shoving things in her mouth. They managed not to break her jaw, thank the spirits.

"The worst part was, she didn't understand what was going on. You could see it in her face. She was completely bewildered and terrified, and it didn't matter how many times you tried to explain that you were just trying to help. It was like explaining to a wounded animal why it was hurting.

"Sometimes, once in a great while, when she was really exhausted, she would just lie there and cry. And you'd think, _finally_, maybe you can reach her. But the second anyone tried to touch her, she'd start all over again. I don't think another girl could have done it. If she were any other girl, she wouldn't have had anything left to fight with. This was Azula, though: she battled on and on, and wouldn't stop. Her own strength was killing her.

"But all that wasn't as bad as the fire. I've never seen anything like it. It just…never shut down. The heat coming off her was incredible. You could feel it before you even opened the door of her room. The metal in her restraints would get too hot and burn her, but padding always caught on fire. And we couldn't give her a bed, because that would catch on fire too. In the end, we put her in a refrigeration unit, like the ones they have at the prisons. But even that wasn't enough. We had to douse her with cold water every half hour.

"She was always injured. Her wrists were the worst. They were constantly raw and burnt and bleeding beneath the shackles. But there were other places. She could breathe fire, and it's not like we could cover up her nose. I had to keep a waterbender in the palace just for her.

"I finally asked Aang to take her firebending. He didn't want to at first. He refused. But he took one look at her and changed his mind."

Iroh was lost for words. Nothing he could say would take the memory back, or make it better.

Zuko was speaking with the eerie calm of a man who had lost hope, and resigned himself to fate. "You know, we always said she was crazy, but I never really knew what that meant. I never realized how precise and methodical and completely _sane_ Azula was – not until she really did go crazy.

"Watching her cry and scream was like, was like…" Zuko glanced around for inspiration. His eyes fell on a nearby sculpture, and he jerked his chin towards it. "It was like seeing a statue scream, or a dragon cry. It was wrong. I couldn't help her; I couldn't even stand to look at her anymore. So I sent her away.

"I'm just worried-" His voice caught, and the next few words were clearly a struggle. "I'm worried about my mother. She'll be heartbroken."

Iroh's stomach dropped down to his shoes. Zuko's mother was never coming back. At some point he would find a way to tell him, but right now he had to take care of the living. It was time to ask some questions.

"Where did you send Azula?"

"There's a place that specializes in mental problems – sort of a cross between a hospital and a research facility. They were the only ones I could find that deal with this sort of thing. Thank the gods they're Fire Nation. I doubt the Earth Kingdom or Water Tribe would have taken her."

"Who runs it?"

"Technically it's a military project, but the man in charge is a civilian. His name is Doctor Soong."

"What's his background?"

Zuko paused. "Ah…well, he's a doctor, and he's interested in disorders of the mind, and he's been studying the subject for a long time."

He waited, but Zuko didn't say anything more. Iroh felt a headache coming on. "How does he publish his research? Is there a military record?"

"Probably."

"Has the Healers' Guild approved his practices?"

"I didn't think to ask."

"Are his former patients pleased with their treatment?"

"How should I know? Hell, how should _they_ know? They're crazy."

"And his finances are above suspicion? There's never been grounds for an investigation?"

"Does it really matter?"

Iroh sensed that this would be a pointless interrogation. "Nephew, are you sure this place is legitimate?"

"I _know_ it's fine," Zuko snapped. "Mai's mother recommended them to me."

That wasn't reassuring. Mai's mother was a Bai Jiang. The Bai Jiangs made a great show of being respectable, but their staid façade hid a rotten and opportunistic core. Mai was considered the black sheep of the family, which probably explained why she had turned out so well.

"What did her mother say, exactly?"

"She said that Mai had a cousin who was causing problems, and this place took care of everything."

Had she used those precise words? Iroh thought that was an odd way to recommend a doctor.

"Why the sudden interest? Are you worried that she'll get away somehow? I'm not stupid. I did send a man to check their security. He said it was excellent. As a matter of fact, the guards are all soldiers, and their commanding officer served with you a Ba Sing Se."

"I see." That didn't mean much. Iroh had served with many over his long, eventful career. Some of them were good men. Some of them weren't. "Do you remember his name?

"Not off the top of my head, but I can find out. Since you're so curious, do you want me to just send for the entire file?"

"Please."

The Firelord snapped his fingers, and a servant materialized out of the shadows. Zuko told him what he wanted.

He turned back to Iroh. "Right. Now you have to answer _my_ question. Why the sudden interest? The first time I tried to tell you about this, you waved me off so you could go flirt with one of the maids."

Iroh was momentarily distracted. _I remember her. That was a good night_. A second later, he realized how awkward his position was. What to say?

_Your dead mother threatened to castrate me…_

_I was having a dream about your mother…_

_I enjoyed the forbidden fruit from the secret garden, and I had a vision…_

_I'd really like to see my favorite niece…_

_The Dai Li brainwashed me into liking Azula…_

"I, er, met a person in Ba Sing Se who told me something about Azula – something that I didn't know."

Zuko waited. "And?" he prompted.

"And what?"

"Who was this person? What did he say to you?"

Iroh decided to play the wise man. It was an act he had used many times, one that Zuko usually fell for. He put on his gravest face, and made up something suitably obscure for the young Firelord to puzzle over. "Sometimes a man has to keep his silence to be heard."

Zuko fixed him with a steely-eyed glare. _He's learning_. Iroh could see that his nephew wasn't buying it, so he switched tactics. "Have you gone to visit your sister?"

"Why should I? I know what I'll see." Zuko wouldn't quite look at him.

"Are you sure that she hasn't improved?"

"They say she hasn't. Doctor Soong sends me a report every two weeks."

_Here goes_. "The person I talked to said that he had seen her. He said she was better."

"Better? Meaning…"

"Sane."

The torches threw as much shadow as light, and Iroh couldn't see Zuko's face clearly. The long silence could have meant anything.

When Zuko finally spoke, his voice was low and tense. "That's wrong. I was told she's not."

"I don't think so, nephew."

"You trust this person?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh. And that's why you won't tell me who he is."

"Maybe he was wrong. But I think we must make sure."

"Must? No way. It's probably a trap. Nothing is ever straightforward around Azula."

"But what if it's not a trap?"

"So what? If she's any better, then they're doing good work. We should let them get on with their job."

"Why are they lying?"

"They're not," snapped Zuko. "_Your_ man is lying, whoever the hell he is."

"He said something else." Iroh paused for effect. Zuko had to understand the gravity of the situation. "He thought they were mistreating her."

"I don't believe it."

"But-"

"As if my life isn't hard enough. I'm not going to run off on a wild goose chase."

"What if-"

"I said she was sane before. I didn't say she was normal. Azula is unnatural. Even my mother thought so."

"I think-"

"Do you know what it's like to be around that all the time? Did you see what just happened? As soon as I mentioned her, everyone's night was ruined. She's toxic."

Iroh privately agreed, but that wasn't the issue here. "That doesn't mean she should suffer."

"I can't. I just can't deal with this right now. You know what I was talking about earlier? About the tax and the piracy and stuff? That's just the tip of the iceberg. I'm so glad you're here. I need to talk to you. Things are bad. Really, really bad."

Zuko suddenly sounded very young and very scared. Iroh mentally berated himself for staying away so long. Of course his nephew needed help. He was only a teenager, and being the Firelord wasn't easy.

"We will talk, nephew. Tomorrow, on our way to Azula."

"No. I just told you I can't do it. I'm not ready yet. I won't leave her there forever, I don't even want to. Someday I'll go get her. I promise."

"I'm sorry, Zuko. That's not soon enough. Azula's life isn't going to wait until you're ready. If someone's hurting her, then it's happening right now."

"I can't imagine it," he insisted sullenly. "She wouldn't let anyone do that to her. Even when she was crazy, it took six strong men to hold her down."

"Does this place have six strong men?"

That finally struck home, judging from the lengthy hesitation. When Zuko spoke at last, Iroh wasn't surprised to hear him relent.

"I'll have them get a war balloon ready." His voice was slow and reluctant. "We can leave tomorrow afternoon. If she's lucid enough and humble enough to say that she wants to come home, then she can come home. Or…or if they're not treating her well."

_Home_? That did surprise Iroh. He had imagined a nice, comfortable prison cell somewhere.

"Home? As in…the palace?"

"Of course. This is where we live."

Iroh felt as if he were standing on shifting sand. It was always like this when Zuko talked about his sister. You never knew what he would say or how he would react. Not for the first time, Iroh seemed to be missing something.

"We? As in…you and Azula?"

"Who do you think I'm talking about?"

"Are you sure that's wise?"

At that moment, the servant reappeared and handed something to the Firelord. _There's the file_, thought Iroh. It looked terribly thin.

"Like I said before, I'm not stupid. She'll be watched." Zuko made a ball of fire for light, and started to flip idly through the file as he talked. "She won't be able to move an inch unless I say so. And I tell you what – she's going to learn to keep her mouth shut. I'm not putting up with her bullshit anymore."

Zuko might have been resistant at first, but – now that he had made a decision – he seemed to be embracing the idea. His mood was rapidly rising from the dark and fathomless depth of the past few minutes. Right now he was hovering at "aggressive irritation", which meant he was already back to normal.

"And another thing, she's going to apologize to Mai. Then she's going to tell me all about her intelligence network. Gods, that would be useful."

Was that optimism? Not only was his nephew feeling better, he was positively giddy – for Zuko.

"I'm going to make her understand that it's not all about her anymore. She needs to serve her lord and her country. Kwan Yu."

"What?"

Zuko was gazing at a page in the file. He had apparently found what he was looking for. "The officer who served with you at Ba Sing Se. His name is Kwan Yu."

Iroh's blood froze.

_Dear Agni. I should have come sooner_. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to speak. "I…uh…yes. I remember him."

"Was he competent? The person I sent was impressed with him."

"Yes. He was very competent." _Among other things_.

"See. I told you I did my homework." Zuko held out the sheaf of papers. "Do you still want to look at this?"

"Please." Iroh took them gingerly. He already knew that he wouldn't like what he saw. Nothing involving Kwan Yu could be good or right.

Zuko sighed heavily. "I'd better go. It's getting late, and I have to explain to Mai why I'm leaving tomorrow. She won't like this."

"You don't think she'll approve? I was going to ask her to go with us, and young Ty Lee as well." _Iroh had a sudden, nightmare vision involving Kwan Yu, Azula, and a whip._

"You were here. You saw how they reacted when I said her name. How do you think they'll handle the real thing? But you can try."

They both stood up. "I'm proud of you, nephew." And Iroh meant it. "Not every man would help his oldest enemy." _This time it was Kwan Yu, Azula, and a rack_.

"That's the difference between Azula and me. How can I show her how wrong she was if I'm no better?"

"I'm afraid, Zuko, that she may not be willing to learn from you. Are you sure you want to bring her here?" _Kwan Yu always stroked their faces towards the end, when they were failing. He would whisper in their ears, like a lover, and coax their secrets from them. Then the killing blow_.

"It will be fine. I did her a favor when I asked Aang to take her firebending. If I hadn't, I'd have to lock her up for the rest of her life. Besides, I think you'll be surprised at how well-behaved she is, now that everything is settled between us."

"Settled? How so?" _When Kwan Yu was through with them_, _death was a mercy._

"She'll never take the throne without her bending. I won."

.o0o.

Iroh stood outside Ty Lee's door and tried to clear his mind. It was hard to have a normal conversation when your imagination was making you nauseous. At the moment, Kwan Yu was taking each of Azula's slender fingers and snapping them one-by-one.

How many times had he seen Kwan Yu practicing his hideous art? And how many times had he told himself that men like Kwan Yu were a necessary evil? Military commanders needed information, and the suppliers were almost never willing.

He remembered laughing with Lu Ten over dinner one night, laughing while the battlefield reek floated through their tent on the gentle summer breeze, along with the screams of Kwan Yu's "squealers". They never gave it a second thought.

Every unit employed its own Interrogations Master and always had since the beginning of the war. It was standard procedure. Like so much in his former life, Iroh didn't bother to question the practice. He had spent long decades depriving others of their children, and never saw a problem with it until his own son was taken from him.

_Lazy and self-satisfied_, he reminded himself. What a fool he was, to think that he could escape so easily from his past. He had executed his own men often enough – usually for desertion or cowardice. He punished them for running away from a killing field, while he rewarded a torturer. Now a young girl might be paying a terrible price for Iroh's smugness. No one deserved that, not even a hopeless case like Azula.

Kwan Yu should have been the first to fall beneath his blade.

Maybe he was getting himself worked up over nothing. It was a common name, after all. What kind of healer would keep a man like Kwan Yu around his patients? Unfortunately, there was an answer to that, and it was a disturbing one.

_You don't know anything yet_. It was pointless to worry now. Whatever was happening, they would deal with it when they got there.

Iroh breathed in and out a few times to center himself, then finally knocked on the door.

It only took her a few seconds to answer. A faint sheen of sweat covered her face, and her clothes clung to her damply. She had probably been training – she was holding a fan in one hand – but Iroh immediately thought of sex.

It was a gift some women had – or a curse, depending on how you looked at it. Ty Lee was no stunning beauty, though she was pretty enough. But something about her just screamed sensuality.

"Well hello, handsome." She giggled and batted her eyelashes at him. "I didn't expect a gentleman caller tonight."

"Such a man would be blessed beyond all other mortals," he said gallantly, "but I've come to talk to you about something far less pleasant."

"Ooh. Sounds serious! Are you sure you've come to the right place?"

Now, this was exactly the kind of woman he would have pursued in his youth. But age and experience had taught him a few things. One was an appreciation for depth and subtlety. He had also learned that many women pretended to be stupid.

"Be careful, Warrior of Kyoshi. If you wear a mask too often, you may start to confuse the mask with reality."

She knew exactly what he meant. A small look of surprise crossed her face, which was quickly replaced by wariness. The bright vacancy vanished completely. It changed her entire face, and Iroh thought it was a great improvement.

Ty Lee shifted uneasily. "General. You want to talk to me?"

_There you are_. Iroh had always known there was more to her than met the eye. Ty Lee was a master of the chi-blocking technique, and that was no mean feat.

"It's about Azula."

She tried to smile. Failed. "It would be, wouldn't it? Why else would you want to have a real conversation with me? Why would anyone?"

It would have been polite to deny it, but she clearly had issues that he couldn't make better. Not with a few empty words. He decided to get straight to the point. "Zuko and I have heard that she may be improving. We're leaving tomorrow to see her. I was hoping you would join us."

"No."

The flat refusal surprised him more than anything else could have. Apparently she had even more backbone than he gave her credit for.

"You're afraid." He kept his voice gentle. Who could blame her?

"No! I'm not. At least, not in the way you mean. You think I'm afraid of Azula because she'll try to kill me."

"It's a possibility."

"You're wrong. Azula's not like that. She wasn't, anyway. Not until…until…"

"It's all right. You don't have to defend her."

Ty Lee searched his face. He had never seen her look so intent. "You must not think very much of us. Mai and I wouldn't have worked for her if we thought she was bad. We would have found a way out."

"Then why…" Iroh felt off-balance, just as he had with Zuko. This wasn't going the way he expected.

"Why what? Why won't I go to her? Or why did we do what we did? It's really the same answer."

"Please share your thoughts with me. I have been learning lately that I don't know Azula as I thought I did."

Her eyes turned distant, and focused on some place – or some time – just beyond his right shoulder. "Zuko says we were wrong, but we didn't think so at the time. We thought we were these great patriots, and that everyone would call us heroes. And they did."

"I thought Azula forced you to go?"

"She kind of did. I liked the circus and I wanted to stay there, but only at first. Working for Azula was really exciting. She had this huge job to do, and out of everybody in the world she picked just the two of us to help her. No one else ever asked me to do something important and amazing like that.

"When the mission was over, she told me I could go. I didn't want to, though. I had joined the circus so I could be different, but being Azula's own personal lieutenant was so much better than just being a circus freak. Everyone knew who I was, and they thought I was a great warrior.

"And…and…Azula paid really well." Ty Lee smiled sadly. "Shallow, huh? I have two villas and a silver mine."

"I see." And Iroh did see. "What happened, then?"

"Azula always acted like the whole world depended on what she was dong, and she made others believe it too. It was a gift she had. But it was too hard.

"Saving the world was scary. There was so much _pressure_. And _Azula_ was scary. She didn't sleep, sometimes she didn't eat. She never stopped, she never hesitated, and she never felt sorry. She was so sure that she was right, and that she had this important and wonderful destiny.

"Because we were helping her, that meant we were part of her destiny too. She always had us working on something, or worrying about it. She probably thought she was doing us a favor. Azula wanted to be someone important so badly, it never would have occurred to her that we didn't feel the same way.

"But I couldn't take it. Life was so hard. Azula wasn't the only one going crazy: she was dragging both of us with her."

"And Mai and I were always afraid that she would cross the line. Azula never asked us to do anything we weren't willing to do, but we figured it was only a matter of time.

"It finally happened at the Boiling Rock. She was going to kill Zuko. Her father ordered her to do it, you know? Then Mai stepped in. She's never said so, but I'm sure she expected to die. Disobeying your commanding officer is insubordination, but disobeying the princess is high treason. And she did it right in front of all those guards.

"I still don't think Azula wanted to hurt her. She never did anything just because she was mad. I think she thought she had to. Azula was so strong and brave: she was willing to do whatever was necessary, and then to take responsibility for it.

"But I wasn't brave like her. One of them was going to end up dead. Probably Mai. I couldn't live with that, so I stopped them.

"That's what I learned from Azula: being special comes at a higher price than I'm willing to pay. She really was amazing. But I finally decided that I would rather be part of a matched set…" Ty Lee slowly rotated her wrist, so that her fan covered the lower half of her face. Suddenly she was just another pair of timeless eyes behind the ancient icon. "…and be happy."

She lowered the fan and met his stare straight on. "When you see Azula, you can tell her that I hope she's feeling better – I do! – but I never want to see her again."

After the one, brief moment of clarity and connection, her usual, opaque gaze returned. Her expression hardened once more, became smooth and empty. For the first time, Iroh recognized the source of her wistful appeal: the pretty doll face betrayed a tragic weakness. It looked out at the world with fragile eyes and a brittle, porcelain smile.

"Goodnight, Sir." She tilted her head a little to the side, _just so_, and winked flirtatiously. "Sweet Dreams."

Then she closed the door on him and on Azula.

.o0o.

Iroh's dreams that night were anything but sweet. He went down to breakfast the next morning feeling weary and troubled. The file had told him little – suspiciously little. What had Zuko done this time?

When he arrived, he found his nephew looking white and strained. He was fiddling with a ball of paper.

Zuko glanced up and flashed him a tight-lipped smile. "I've received a message." His fist tightened around the crumpled sheet. "Do you still think she needs help?"

With an angry jerk, he suddenly threw the wad at Iroh. It bounced off his chest and fell to the ground, where he stared at it blankly.

It took a few seconds for Zuko's strangled announcement to sink in.

"There's been a breakout at the madhouse."


	18. One Shot

**Hello, everybody. I've decided not to promise quick updates anymore, even when I'm on vacation. Something always gets in the way. But please know that I would love to repay your kind and thoughtful reviews with speedily posted chapters. In fact, I would gladly devote my life to writing fanfiction and all other types of fiction – if only I didn't have to earn a living. **

**Thank you to everyone who's still following the story. I hope this chapter is worth the wait.**

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Chapter 18 – One Shot

On the day she killed Kwan Yu, Azula was feeling bored.

She watched him stride through the door and pull the shackles from his belt. Another face-off with the freak, another round of threats and innuendo. _How dull_.

"Hello, Princess. I've brought your outfit for today." He lifted the shackles. "I know how you like to look nice for me."

"A princess wants to impress a nobody? You're feeling cocky. Let me guess – did you kick a beggar on your way to work? Or eat a baby for breakfast?"

"That's not really my style." Now he was standing just inches away, dwarfing her and completely dominating her space. He leaned forward and whispered the next words in her ear, so that his warm breath tickled her skin. His voice was low and deep and very masculine. "I'm more of a whips-and-chains man, myself."

He straightened up again and laughed. "But you already knew that. All right, same old drill. Put out your hands."

Lethargy had its advantages. Kwan Yu's advances were becoming more aggressive by the day, but Azula felt too dull to care. She yawned delicately. "You're just like all the other perverts: vulgar and boring. For someone who claims to be a master, you're not very original."

He clapped the irons on her wrists. "You think that now, but we hardly know each other. We have all the time in the world. Eventually I'll show you my best work, and I'm pretty sure you'll be impressed."

She never had a chance to respond. He'd been struggling with the metal cuffs for the past few seconds. Finally he muttered, "Damned lock must be rusted."

_Or someone switched your key_. Azula went so still that, for a moment, even her heart stood mute. Where had that thought come from?

He crouched down and tried the leg shackles. Once again, the inserted key refused to turn. He pulled it out and gave it a quick glance, then looked over his shoulder.

"Someone go get more restraints."

"Here, Sir." One of the soldiers stepped forward, pulling a pair off his belt.

"That's convenient. You expecting trouble?"

"No, Sir. I ran into the Doctor a few minutes ago and he gave them to me. Said he was late for a meeting and didn't have time to put them away. I was going to take care of them after this."

"He must have been playing with his little pet. Did he look all sly and twitchy?"

"Yes, Sir. I'd say he was hot and bothered, Sir."

"Now you know what a ferret-weasel looks like after it gets off."

A low snicker ran through the group. Normally Azula would have shriveled inside, thinking – for the millionth time – how coarse and disgusting men were. Instead she watched raptly as Kwan Yu inspected each of the new shackles, and the chain links glinted in the dull, uncertain firelight.

Her fingertips began to tingle. Something was happening.

When Kwan Yu put the cuffs on her, his key turned smoothly and easily. He also stroked her wrist while he was doing it, and his fingers lingered a moment longer than was necessary.

Azula hardly noticed.

He tossed her over his shoulder, began to walk, paused in mid-stride. "Bo, make sure that someone oils all the restraints tonight. It's overdue."

She fought down a wild surge of laughter. Azula didn't think the shackles needed oiling.

As he had done dozens of times before, he set her down just outside the dining hall and pulled the hood off her head. But Azula didn't feel like she had all the other times. Today her heart pounded like a war drum, and her blood was singing a battle anthem.

Kwan Yu pointed her towards the door. "All right, Honey. Get moving." He put his hands on her lower back and nudged her forward. The massive paws weren't quite groping her ass.

She should keep her mouth shut. She _should_ make damn sure that she didn't blow her chance. But right now Azula was ready for murder – and just a little mad. It felt good.

She spun around recklessly and stared up into the black holes that concealed his eyes. She had to say this now: there might not be time later.

"You're worthless. You're worse than that – you're a pathetic loser. You're not good enough to lick the dirt beneath my shoes." The slight quiver in her voice betrayed her: Azula's entire body was vibrating with long-suppressed emotion.

"And I'm not afraid."

"You're getting ready to do something stupid." Kwan Yu kept his tone gentle. He reached out and caught one of her hands in his own. "Bring it on. I've been bored lately, and I'm not afraid either."

Then he squeezed. The sudden pain almost dropped her to her knees.

He pressed even harder. "Looks like I'm having the last word. Again. I always do."

_Not today_. Azula was spun around and shoved towards the door. She staggered into the room beyond, where the noise broke over her. The sound of madness had changed. At Lady Killer's prompting, the inmates had roused themselves to a tense almost-rebellion. Now they no longer talked in sly, sibilant undertones. Their muttered discontent, cowed and hiding, had become a roar of violence, barely suppressed.

Azula walked with an evil man at her back and the threat of violation on every side. Facing the gauntlet had become nearly unbearable, but at the moment it suited her mood. She had never felt so aware, and every detail took on a surreal clarity.

To the right, an inmate with a mole on his cheek turned his head and laughed.

Someone on the left was idly twirling his bowl.

Another spat a little as he talked.

A man watched her out of the corner of his eye and licked his lips.

One twitchy lunatic scratched compulsively at his scarred and torn cheek.

A chair was shifted, and its legs scraped across the floor.

An eyelid twitched as a young thug sized up the passing guard.

The guard clenched his fist.

A handsome man with an aristocratic nose blew her a kiss.

Azula focused her will and stared back hard. The hungry gaze wavered, slid away.

She was pleased. _That's right. Something wicked this way comes_. In the next instant, an arm darted out from the other side and grabbed her thigh.

Before she even realized that she was under attack, Kwan Yu had hauled the culprit out of his seat. There was an awful rending, cracking, popping as he twisted the offending arm up and back. The man gave an agonized squeal, which was cut off as he was slammed bodily against the table half-a-dozen times.

Within moments, Kwan Yu had dropped the transgressor back into his own chair. That brave fool blinked dazed eyes, and looked dully at the wreck of his arm. Then he grinned through bloody teeth.

"It was totally worth it."

Kwan Yu was all camaraderie. "Believe me, I understand-" everyone laughed, except Azula, "-but that isn't yours to touch. You and I are going to have a discussion about respecting my property."

"Lucky man. I'll see you then."

The "lucky man" was playing with fire. Not so long ago, such blatant defiance would have been impossibly daring, and unthinkably stupid. Now the room was calm as they finished their trip up the aisle, and there was no sign that anything exceptional had happened – except for the mad tittering of one, unbalanced soul.

Before he left her, Kwan Yu gave her shoulder a little squeeze. It might have seemed friendly, if it hadn't left a bruise.

Azula could tell that he was enjoying himself. He wasn't lying when he said he was bored, and he had clearly found relief by courting disaster. The big man was reveling in the rising anarchy, and feeding on the prisoners' unrest. He was one of them, after all. Only worse.

Well, she was about to spoil his fun. She hoped. For the first time, Azula felt a creeping worm of doubt. What if she was wrong?

Lady Killer interrupted her plotting. "If it isn't the Mighty Princess, come to grace us with her presence." He sounded peevish.

"Shut up."

"Your reputation is overblown, you know. Such a great warrior should have escaped by now." He paused meaningfully. "And killed a few deserving enemies along the way."

Azula was miserably trying to force down a few bites of food: she had to look normal until the time was right. Anxiety made her voice acidic.

"Those are big words for someone who's been here as long as you. It's easy to be brave on my behalf, isn't it? Coward."

His spine stiffened and his eyes narrowed. "I've been a soldier for longer than you've been alive, Child. Find me an opportunity, and I'll show you how I earned my rank."

"Then prove me wrong. Care to volunteer your services?"

He was momentarily frozen. Prophet, oblivious as ever, was staring straight ahead and muttering to himself. But Lady Maker had clearly sensed something in the air: he was looking back and forth between them.

"Volunteer for what?" Lady Killer tried to sound jovial, and failed. "You haven't done a damned thing yet, and I'm not impressed. Will this crazy scheme of yours take place a month from now? A year?"

"About ten minutes, I think."

"Are you serious?"

"Maybe."

Azula pointedly looked down at her food and dropped out of the conversation.

She ate as much as she could without throwing up, which wasn't a lot. But that was okay: she often left her food half-eaten. As she had done many times before, Azula pushed her bowl away and leaned back in her chair, resting her hands in her lap.

Unlike the other times, her hands immediately went to work on the shackles.

Seconds passed, and still her probing fingers didn't find anything. The fingers began to shake, and suddenly she was damp with sick sweat. Azula could have screamed, or wept, or bashed her head against the wall. What would she do if there was no plot? if there was not trick to set her free, and no chance to escape this nightmare? How could she live after hope had bloomed and died again?

She couldn't. If this didn't work, Azula would go back to her cell and bleed herself out.

The cuffs seemed to be secure. She moved on to the chain, beginning with the link closest to her wrist. There was a slight irregularity, an unaccountable rough patch. Azula squeezed…and the painted paper and paste crumbled to dust between her fingers.

Now the link had a gap, and she was able to slide it off the cuff. Now one end of the chain was hanging free. Just like that, her hands were free too.

Emotion swept over her, and she had to blink away the prick of tears. There would be an end today, one way or the other. She also felt some grudging admiration. The Doctor's plan was a masterpiece of elegant simplicity; she hadn't thought him capable of it. And the best part was, Kwan Yu himself had put on the faulty shackles. Azula saw the bitter hand of hatred at work.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Dear?"

_Spirits_. Was she so obvious? She still couldn't speak, so Azula nodded her head fractionally.

Lady Killer turned as pale as she probably was, but his eyes glittered wildly. "What a show! I can't wait to see."

"You're just going to sit there?"

"It would be unwise for me to get involved. I have other matters to attend to."

_Coward_, she thought again, spitefully.

Lady Maker watched them closely.

Azula surveyed the room methodically, masking the careful scrutiny with her usual look of boredom. Beneath the table, her fingers found the weak link on the other end of the chain. When she had detached it completely, she wrapped the chain around her aching fist. The abused hand throbbed terribly, and might even be broken. That didn't mean it couldn't be useful.

Her eyes moved slowly and ceaselessly, considering, weighing, measuring each object in her line of sight, searching for some potential usefulness. Where was her weapon? Did he expect her to kill Kwan Yu with her bare hands?

She could feel the pulse pounding at her throat and temples. Gods, how could she look normal when she was anything but? And how were they not noticing? Azula's skin was flushed, and crawling with nervous expectation. She could practically feel it: feel the hard hands descending to drag her away.

_Focus_. _Focus_. She had a few tools at hand, if she could find a way to use them: a clever but spineless co-conspirator, a brawler who was brave but none-too-clever, a volatile, single-minded lunatic, and a brainwashed vegetable.

Azula tugged irritably at the cloth around her neck. The loose shift suddenly seemed tight and uncomfortable.

It would be too conspicuous to bend over; they would wonder why she was doing it. Freeing her legs would just have to wait until she was ready to act. That meant that she had to strike from a distance: she needed time and space.

She also needed a godsdamned weapon. Damn it.

The others were playing their part. Though it sounded tense and forced, they managed to keep up a constant stream of chatter. Azula gave it half an ear as she watched. And pondered.

"…not here today. Must have had a rough session…"

"…laid low. The Light smites unbelievers…"

"…only. I hope the bastard never comes back…"

"…seen the new guy. Bet he doesn't…"

"…big man learned a new trick. It was…"

Finally she came to a decision. Azula leaned forward a bit and fiddled with her bowl. That put her right in front of Deaf and Dumb, who was sitting next to her.

It was worth a shot. "Times are hard," she murmured. "Maybe you would enjoy a vacation to Lake Laogai."

On the last two words, she had turned her head, so that she was looking right at him. Thus she had a good view when his ragged pupils suddenly expanded.

Azula fought an urge to bare her teeth and back away. So the Doctor _did_ work with the Dai Li. She had never been comfortable with their little puppets, and she had never gotten used to Deaf and Dumb either.

This was worse. Though he didn't look any different than he had five seconds ago, he _felt_ different. The silence was no longer empty, but alert and self-contained.

Lady Killer's voice had stuttered to a halt. Prophet seized his chance and launched a diatribe – which was just as well. The other two men were spooked and staring.

Azula found herself blinking sweat out of her eyes. It was hard to be so close to this abomination, and to talk to its face. She did it anyway. "The guards have hurt you. They've hurt us all. But you have a chance right now. You can hurt them back."

His fist clenched.

The unnatural stillness was shattered, and Azula almost jumped out of her skin. She had never seen him move before.

"You have to wait, though," she whispered urgently. "I'm going to find you the perfect opportunity. When I say _go now_, attack the guard to the left, the one standing against the wall. Kill him, and then any other guards you come across."

To her relief, he held his pose. Apparently he wouldn't act without a command – like any well-trained animal.

Azula leaned back and tried – in vain – to ease her tensed muscles. They were starting to cramp. Abruptly she realized that Prophet had stopped talking. She narrowed her eyes at the two men opposite. Lady Maker looked more unhappy than ever. Lady Killer shook himself slightly and rushed to fill the silence.

She forced herself to think of her plans, and not about Deaf and Dumb. Azula couldn't shake the feeling that their helpless idiot had become a watchful sentinel, poised and waiting to pounce. Although she wasn't looking at him, she was aware of his presence – like sunlight on her skin, or eyes on her back.

Once again, she let the conversation roll over her, and her thoughts went their own way.

"…down in two seconds, if you do it right…"

"…would I? Where's the fun in that?..."

"…gotta get the job done and get gone…"

"…like some tradesman. Now those of us with refinement…"

"…is a trade. Just one the law don't like…"

Azula rubbed the back of her neck. She wanted to force Lady Killer into the fray: it would serve him right for making her do all the work. But it looked like she didn't need him after all. Too bad…

"…on a girl named Yumi. Pretty thing, just turned sixteen…"

"…what they're doing. But the pro's always know…

"…vulgar and distasteful, just like you…"

"…harlots! covered in the slime and filth of fornication…"

"…agree. They're dirty and diseased, especially the cheap ones…"

She shifted a little in her chair, shifted again, twitched. Fidgeting did not become a princess, but Azula couldn't help it. Kwan Yu was standing about twenty-five feet away. There was a table between them, and four guards: two against the wall to the left, and two in the aisle to the right. _Perfect_…

"…why you call it dirty, when you like it so much…"

"…not for a man. Women are the ones…"

"…it don't make no sense…"

"…because only the Light makes sense of chaos…"

Azula was starting to see spots in her eyes. Flashes of heat were skittering across her flesh, and her limbs felt strangely light and shaky. Where was her weapon? She needed something. Anything. Where…

"…don't make sense either, if it chose you…"

"…not today. Please! I already have a splitting…"

"…is the Light's vengeance on infidels…"

_Where_? _Where_? _Where_…

"A headache ain't got nothing to do with no light!"

Azula resisted the urge to pull out her hair. Barely.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Fatty?"

She wouldn't panic. She wouldn't. She wouldn't…

"There ain't no fuckin' light!"

Prophet obviously thought that his response was important, because he raised his fist high. Unthinkingly, she followed it with her eyes. The fist came down. Her gaze shifted to her cup, and Azula reached for it out of habit. The groping hand was half a second too late.

He struck hard, but the table was steady as a rock, and the cup didn't lose a single drop of liquid.

For a moment, she froze. Then she glanced down. The scratches on the wooden surface were familiar: it was the same, wobbly table. But there was _something underneath_.

_Don't jump to conclusions_, she warned herself. She didn't know what was down there. She certainly couldn't feel anything with her hands or feet. Another voice – a reckless and increasingly loud one – was irritated at her for being so stupid. _Of course it's under the table_. Where else would it be?

Azula chewed her lip and tried to think. She should find a way to check.

But her mind refused to cooperate. What was wrong with her? Princess Azula of the Fire Nation, Commander of Armies and Conqueror of Ba Sing Se, did _not_ get nervous, and she did _not_ go into battle unprepared.

The problem was, there had never been so much at stake before. She had just this one shot, this one spirit-sent chance to end the pain. But if she tried to kill Kwan Yu and failed, she would be better off dead.

One of them had to die today.

Well, there was nothing for it. She would assume that what she needed was under the table. Right now she had to plan her assault.

It was about ten feet to the other table. If the way was clear, then-

But if Deaf and Dumb didn't do anything, the guard on the left would-

Prophet and Lady Maker might end up in the middle. In that case-

Azula's head moved convulsively, as if she were shaking off flies. There were just too many variables, and she couldn't concentrate…

It would be so much easier if he didn't see her. Would-

The inmates at the table could be a problem, or-

_Breathe_. _Just breathe_…

First things first. It was about ten feet to the other table-

Most humans needed at least three seconds to-

How fast could she get the chain-

What if there was no-

_Oh_, _please_, _Spirits_…

Just ten feet, but she needed-

Ten feet, but how-

_I've got to go_. _He'll move_…

Ten feet, and then-

Before she knew what she was doing, Azula had screwed her eyes shut and balled her fists. There was a hard, little coil in her chest that was winding itself tighter and tighter. Pretty soon it would…

Just ten-

Ten feet-

Ten-

Te-

"Prophet, Lady Maker says that the Light is a whore." _Oh my god, I'm sprung_. "And that she likes him better than you."

He gaped at her stupidly for a moment, then his head swiveled around so he could fix a baleful glare on Lady Maker.

"He told me that they had wild, filthy, noisy sex. Twice." Prophet was turning purple. "Are you going to let him get away with that?"

The fat old lunatic started to shake (and jiggle). Azula thought of a pig-walrus.

"He said-"

"I said that she knew more tricks than one of them fancy pony-dogs." Lady Maker leered salaciously. "The Light is a dirty girl, Prophet."

Maybe he just couldn't resist. Or maybe he knew she was up to something, and decided that he would play along. Azula thought it was the latter. Lady Maker's face was pale, and the set of his jaw determined.

"We did it every way I knew how, and a few I didn't know. The Light was moaning my name the whole time."

"Infidel…" Prophet's voice was a choked whisper.

"Afterwards we both laughed at you."

"No…"

"I threw her some change before she left. She still had my juice on her face."

Prophet was speechless.

"The Light said she was going to suck every cock she could find." He paused. "But not yours."

That was too much. Bellowing with rage, Prophet shot out of his seat and threw himself at Lady Maker.

The shackles made it hard, but the zealot was too angry to let that stop him. His great weight bore Lady Maker backwards, and they hopped-stumbled-fell off to the right, where they collapsed in a brawling heap at the guard's feet – two big men fueled by years of pent-up dislike.

Azula didn't pause to watch.

"Go now!"

With a lithe twist and a gliding stride, Deaf and Dumb took off like a shot to the left, moving far more quickly and noiselessly than a chained man should.

The moment he cleared the table, Azula placed her hands under its edge and heaved. She was vaguely aware of Lady Killer scurrying away, like a scared mole-rat.

The table tipped over and stood on-edge. She crouched down behind it, hiding herself from view. In less than two seconds she had freed her feet.

In the next second, she spotted a round, metal object. It was protruding from one of the hollow table legs. Azula grasped it and pulled.

She was right. The little sphere was the pommel of a short sword. It wasn't fire, but sharp iron was the next best thing. As she held the naked blade, armed for the first time since the comet, Azula finally remembered herself: she was warrior princess to a nation of mighty warriors.

And she was one of the most dangerous predators in the world.

She finally found the focus that had eluded her. Azula's thoughts took wing, even as her pulse slowed. It stopped fluttering, and the beat became strong and steady as the tread of a marching army. Everything around her slowed too, so it seemed that time was measuring itself out to the rhythm of her heart.

Azula rounded the table fast and low, bending over to reduce her visibility. She saw that her plan had worked. The nearest guards were busy with the disturbances to the right and left. In another moment, the entire area would be swarming with soldiers. But at this moment, the middle way was clear.

She had covered the ten-foot gap before anyone knew she was there.

An inmate was sitting with his back to Azula, blocking her access to the next table. He was watching the drama unfold to the side, but caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. His head turned so he could see her better. It hardly mattered. To her distorted vision, it looked like he was moving through honey. Compared with her quickened responses, he practically was.

Azula planted her hands on his shoulders and flipped up onto the table.

She landed with perfect balance, facing her target. Instantly she noticed two things. One was a reaching arm: some prisoner was trying to grab her. The other was Kwan Yu. Despite the commotion, Kwan Yu hadn't moved. Although he couldn't have seen her until now, he was staring right at her, _waiting for her_. She needed-

Azula sliced through the inmate's conveniently extended wrist, and caught the severed limb.

-a distraction. This would do.

She threw the hand at Kwan Yu.

It passed a few inches to left of face. She noted the tilt of his chin, which meant that his eyes were following the improvised missile. She had won herself an extra second to clear the table.

Azula jumped, and landed a few feet in front of Kwan Yu.

He took a step back and swept an arm from one side to the other, unleashing a chest-high arc of fire. It was a standard military response, one designed to protect his core and force her back. It was also a mistake. He was probably a good firebender, but Azula was a master, and knew what he was going to do before he did. She was already moving.

Azula dove to the floor and rolled under the flame.

She never slowed her forward momentum. So she was just inches away from him when she rose smoothly to her feet. As she did so, Azula raised her weapon. No one knew a soldier's weaknesses better than his fellow soldier: Kwan Yu was armored, but she placed the point of her sword _just so_…

…and drove the blade home. It sank into his flesh up to the hilt.

His own fire had blocked his view. Thus he was completely unprepared to find her popping up right in front of him. Kwan Yu barely had enough time to jerk back in surprise, then the iron was scraping past his spine.

His mask hid his expression, but every line of his body was eloquent of profound shock. For what seemed like a long time, he didn't even move. Azula used that eternal second to marvel at her own feelings.

And she did have feelings. This wasn't like the first time, when she thought she had killed the Avatar. That had been impersonal, an unavoidable matter of duty and business. It didn't mean a thing to her: the drugs made sure of it. She had been so numb and empty that she felt nothing, nothing except righteous satisfaction for a job well-done. Even that was distant and fleeting.

Now she felt crushed and stifled. Some huge and intolerable emotion was threatening to overwhelm her, though she didn't know exactly what it was.

Azula belatedly realized that the person screaming was her.

She also realized that Kwan Yu had sunk down to his knees. _Yes_. She reached out and snatched his mask away.

Then Azula punched a dying man in the face.

She used her injured hand, the one she had wrapped a chain around. There was an explosion of pain when her fist made contact, but it was well worth it, because Kwan Yu's nose exploded at the same time. The cartilage caved and crunched beneath heavy metal links, and Azula knew a warrior's most exquisite joy: her enemy's warm blood spattered across her skin.

She reveled in her wild, hot glee, and twice more smashed the hateful face. She was drawing her arm back for another round when someone grabbed her from behind.

Azula suddenly remembered that she and Kwan Yu weren't the only two people in existence. The shock destroyed her perfect focus and surreal mental clarity.

Time caught up to her headlong rush. Everything around her, which had seemed comically slow, was now moving too fast to follow. She was instantly lost in a storm of strong hands, heavy boots, and solid armor.

She broke a chair over one man's head, and silently berated herself. Why hadn't she pulled the sword out?

Her nails raked across another man's face. How could she get caught up in the moment like that? Since when did the princess forget about her surroundings?

Azula clamped her teeth down on a reaching set of fingers. As she did so, panic squeezed her heart. She didn't know Lady Killer's plan, and she didn't know what she was supposed to do.

Sometimes a brief quiet, an inexplicable lull, occurred during battle. Azula stood in one now, unmolested for a single moment, with a clear view onto a nightmare scene. What she saw was Deaf and Dumb. He was on fire.

He was also beating a dead guard – beating him with the merciless precision of a royal assassin, and the tireless regularity of a machine.

She was transfixed. A second later she paid dearly for her inattention. A hand wrapped itself around her throat from behind and jerked her back. Azula's limbs were caught by others, and she was borne down, down…

She was lying on the ground. A soldier straddled her waist, delivered two open-palmed blows. Her head snapped painfully to the side, and Azula thought that her brain rattled in her skull.

Taking advantage of her stunned condition, he cupped her jaw and poured some sort of liquid down her throat. Then his hand clamped down over her nose and mouth, and not all of her struggling could shake it off.

Azula needed air. She gulped reflexively.

The guard removed his hand a few seconds later. But he stayed where he was, waiting patiently for her to slip away into a forced sleep. They were all waiting. Her gaze wandered over the towering ring of men, but she soon gave it up. Her eyes were already growing lazy.

Black hovered at the edges of her vision. Maybe it was exhaustion, or the drug, or both – because Princess Azula did something weak and pathetic and pointless. With her last conscious thought, she indulged in an impossible wish.

Something bad would be waiting for her when she woke up. She could feel it. So she wished for someone kind, who would hold her hand through the coming darkness. But she already knew it was hopeless. Whatever the future held, Azula would face it like she had faced this, like she faced everything: alone.


	19. Red Harvest I

**Hello, all. I hope everyone is enjoying their holiday season. As ever, I apologize for the slow post. On the bright side, this means you won't have to wait as long for the next one: I should be able to finish a chapter over Christmas break.**

**The title of this chapter was taken from a Dashiell Hammett novel of the same name. **_**Red Harvest**_** provided some inspiration - in a very general way – when I was first planning this story, and wondering how I would get Azula out of the mess I put her in. **

**If you've never read Dashiell Hammett, do yourself a favor and take a look at it. (He's the man who wrote the **_**Maltese Falcon**_**, and basically invented hard-boiled detective fiction.)**

* * *

Chapter 19 – Red Harvest I

Azula rolled over groggily. Something had woken her up. She opened her eyes, blinked a few times, then froze. Anyone else would have thought it pale and sickly. To her own eyes – so accustomed to the darkness – the green glow was bright as the noontide sun.

Her cell door was open.

A voice spoke from the shadows to her left. "Finally. I've been waiting forever."

Azula's muscles tensed, but she kept her eyes trained on the portal to freedom. She knew the owner of that voice, and she wasn't afraid.

"I told you that I had matters to attend to," he went on blithely. The fool never knew how to keep his mouth shut. "I've been busy, as you can see."

"As I can see. What's our plan?"

"_Our_ plan? My dear girl, I've taken care of everything."

"Are you telling me that you don't need help with the guards? Because I don't believe it."

"They're already dead, or fighting for their lives."

"How-"

"There's nothing like striking while the iron is hot, and you've been out for over a day now. They doped you good."

A new tension strained her taut nerves, tension that had nothing to do with the open door. "You took out the guards. By yourself."

"By myself? Of course not. Everyone pitched in."

_Everyone_? Three full seconds passed before she grasped his awful meaning. "Oh my god. _All_ of them?"

"What did you expect, you silly infant? That we could fight our way out, just the two of us? No, no, this was the only way. Besides, I would never abandon my brothers-in-misfortune."

"You mean you thought it would be fun to watch the carnage." Azula felt chilled: she had badly underestimated Lady Killer, and the error seemed larger, more lethal, with every passing moment.

"Isn't that what I said? We've been having quite a party, though I think it's time for the two of us to take our leave. But first I have to know: _who gave you that sword_?"

"It's not obvious?"

"I've always thought of myself as a man of ready wit and keen insight-" he sounded annoyed, "but I'm afraid that, just this once, you've lost me. It is certainly _not_ obvious."

"Doctor Soong."

Lady Killer was shocked into silence. It was probably the first time that had ever happened.

"No…" He finally found his voice, and instantly lost it again.

"Why not? He clearly hated Kwan Yu."

"I suppose…"

"The Doctor was afraid of him."

"Who wouldn't be?"

"And I'm sure that, among his other sins, Kwan Yu was a filthy blackmailer. Of course he was. I don't know how the Doctor got Kwan Yu's military rank reinstated, but it was a mistake. Once he set the weasel-fox loose in the hen-house, he couldn't get rid of him.

"Think about it. Can you doubt that Kwan Yu did whatever the hell he wanted? that he was taking funds, giving orders, and generally walking all over the Doctor? But if Soong tried to get rid of him, he would have gone down too. All Kwan Yu had to do was talk to the authorities, and the Doctor would have been sharing his jail cell – or a gallows tree.

"Put yourself in the Doctor's place. You see, don't you, that Kwan Yu had to die?"

"I do see. Still…"

"I also…_implied_ that Kwan Yu was behind the prisoners' unrest. The Doctor drew his own conclusions and decided to move quickly."

"Kwan Yu was…But that makes no sense! Why would he-"

"Fear preying on a vain mind will produce all sorts of delusions. It never occurred to Soong that his two big problems weren't related, and that they weren't all about him. It would have been hard to convince him that he _wasn't_ the target of some vast conspiracy."

"And Kwan Yu never noticed any of this?"

"He didn't bother to pay attention. I doubt he's ever been afraid in his life. He didn't understand that, if it's scared enough, even a bunny-mouse will bite."

"Oh, he understood all right. No one knows fear like Kwan Yu: he's devoted his entire life to the art of terror. He just didn't care. Why should he? Doctor Soong is a bunny-mouse, as you say, and who's afraid of a little, nibbling rodent?"

"That's why I bit for him."

"And how!" Lady Killer's voice warmed with genuine enthusiasm. "You were magnificent! I've never seen anything move that fast in my life."

"Speaking of moving, let's _go_." Every particle of Azula's body, her entire will, were straining towards the door.

"Ah, about that." His tone became caressing, and she knew that her creeping uneasiness wasn't groundless. The other shoe had dropped. "It seems to me that I've already upheld my end of the bargain. You took out one man, and in return I've liberated the entire facility. No, no, if you want me to take you by the hand and be your guide, I'll need to exact a higher price."

She felt, rather than saw, that he shifted in the darkness. He was only a few feet away, and now he was leaning in towards her, intent and angled like predator.

"Give me a kiss."

"No. I'll find my own way out."

Her refusal was completely flat and unconcerned, and apparently not what he expected. There was a slight pause. But then she thought he inched closer, resuming his slow, stalking progress through the shadows.

"You don't understand. The surviving soldiers have banded together at the gate. I have my own way out, but you won't find it without me. And many of our fellow inmates are still here, you know. Some of them don't even have the presence of mind to leave, poor souls: they have their own…ah…priorities. If they catch you, they'll hurt you in ways you can't even imagine.

"You're much better off with me, little beauty. Now just come here-"

"If you come any closer, pervert, I'll make sure you never have sex again – not as a man, anyway."

That stopped him cold. It was hard to withstand a threat delivered with perfect confidence. As he hesitated, Azula put an end to his indecision.

"You said I was fast. Today I'm faster. Do you really think you can get away before I rip your balls off?"

He got to his feet and moved away. _Putting more space between us_, thought Azula, amused.

Nonetheless, as he stood silhouetted in the doorway, she realized that she had never seen him on his feet before. Without Kwan Yu around to dwarf him, she finally noticed how Lady Killer moved with sure, military precision. The body blocking her path was tall, with hard, disciplined limbs and broad shoulders.

Once again, Azula cursed her former blindness. The Doctor hadn't been the only one deluded by vanity.

"There's no need to be uncivil," he said, sounding wounded. "I just thought I'd offer my continued services, as any gentleman would. And I don't think it's unreasonable to ask for a small token of appreciation."

"I need information." _And I'll get it by force if I have to_. Azula dispassionately considered all the ways she could inflict pain. She knew so many now.

"The floor plan isn't complicated. The basement level is divided into three concentric rings. You're currently residing in the innermost ring, the third ring. The one reserved for the most desperate cases-" Azula thought he smiled "-like yourself.

"The rings are connected to each other by a few narrow corridors. It was a security measure, in case the worst happened: they thought they could blockade the passages and trap us all until we starved. They thought wrong.

"Find the passages and work your way out to the first ring, where you'll take stairs to the upper level. Once you're there, it will be easy enough to find a window or an exit.

"The grounds are surrounded by a wall. It has only one gate, facing east.

"The way lies open. Locks won't be your problem. Your problem will be men. Cruel, hot, vicious, lustful men, who haven't had any women in a long time. The soldiers won't be kind either: you started all this when you killed their commanding officer.

"Are you sure you want to face that without my protection? Think carefully. Because if you refuse me, our deal is off. I'll take what I want – what I've wanted ever since I first saw you."

Lady Killer was in his element. When he was issuing threats, he seemed to grow in strength and confidence, until a looming menace filled her doorway. He was probably frightening. Surely his past victims had been terrified.

Azula hissed at him.

That finally did the trick. Lady Killer stumbled backwards and out of sight. She let him go. Azula owed him that much.

She decided to give him a thirty-count, so he could get the hell out of her way. As she ticked off numbers in her head, Azula crawled slowly forwards, imagined that bloody claws sprouted from her flexing hands, and red fangs curved down past her lips.

If she had to strive with the beasts, she would be an animal too.

She made it to "eighteen", then her body sprang up of its own accord. Before she even knew what she was doing, Azula ran out into the hunting grounds.

For the first time, she saw her prison. The corridor was bright and spacious and gently curving. There was a glowing crystal beside each door, and every door had a number painted on it. Otherwise the hallway was featureless.

The doors…

Most of them were ajar. _Oh my god_, she thought again. The knowledge was still numbing. _All of them_. _He let out all of them_.

Some of the cells gaped wide open, revealing the lightless voids within – lonely cages, private hells. Azula tried not to look too hard.

She realized that she was running and forced herself to slow down. She needed to conserve her energy.

A few minutes later, she realized that she was running again, and forced herself to slow down. Running wouldn't change the fact that she was being watched.

Azula looked from side to side, searching for…anything. Anything that would help.

Once she stopped and wheeled around, wanting, needing to see what was behind her.

Nothing.

Eventually she noticed light gleaming through a narrow crack. Behind the door, Azula found a familiar room lined with showerheads, where she had been exposed again and again, standing naked and vulnerable before Kwan Yu's hungry gaze. It wasn't the way out, but Azula was too relieved to feel disappointed. She needed water badly.

As she stepped into the room, she willed herself not to look back over her shoulder.

Azula stood under a nozzle with her head tilted up, catching the precious fluid in her mouth. The _hiss_ _drip_ of falling liquid seemed loud in the utter silence, and the _gurgle_ as it ran down the drain. Azula mused idly that she had never really listened to water before.

It finally cleared the last wisps of drug-induced fog from her brain. She was wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, when suddenly her head snapped around towards the entrance.

Empty.

She crept cautiously back into the corridor, and checked the front of the bathing-room door. It was numbered, like all the rest. Azula cursed, partly just to hear a human voice. She had assumed that only cells were numbered. What if she had already passed the exit? From now on, she would have to check all the doors.

Azula pressed on, moving from one side to the other, pulling on the doors that weren't already gaping wide. She tensed each time, convinced that there was something waiting for her on the other side. Each time her probing eyes met with fathomless night, and the darkness stared back.

So went the endless search down an endless corridor. Azula felt an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu, like she was reliving a nightmare she couldn't quite remember.

Was that a noise ahead? She sprinted forward, meaning to take the person by surprise. Within a few moments, she realized the threat was…

Gone.

If it had ever been there to begin with. Azula was glad that she had never seen the hallway before. If she had lived with this for too long, it would have driven her mad.

_Unless I'm mad already_.

There. She spotted a lit doorway, and ran through eagerly.

_Beware the Collector_.

The other walls were completely bare – one of the interrogation rooms, then. Azula glanced again at the back wall, where wavering letters looked black in the rotting corpse light.

_Beware the Collector_.

Azula backed out the door, still staring at the bloody message. Finally she turned on her heel and ran off. But the insanity was only beginning to show itself. She hadn't gone two steps before she heard the distant sound of sobbing.

As if a lid had been removed, the horrors now came thick and fast. Azula calmly worked her way through the corridor, ignoring the snatches of noise, which were becoming louder and more frequent. She stopped at a door that was closed tight. Grasping the handle, she pulled…and was immediately overwhelmed by the stench of human excrement.

She took an involuntary step backwards, and belatedly noticed an incessant, high-pitched giggle, like that of a demented child. Azula slammed the door shut, but not before something wet flew out of the darkness and hit her cheek.

She wiped her face as she ran away, trying not to wonder what the slimy substance was. Once she looked back, to make sure that nothing had followed her out of the occupied cell.

Nothing did, but Azula wasn't re-assured. The crying man was drawing closer and closer. She broke out into a cold sweat without knowing why.

Finally she stopped altogether and listened to the heart-broken sobbing. It was just around the bend. Another step or two, and she would see its source. Azula tried to take the step, and found she couldn't.

_Danger_! _Danger_! Some un-reasoning, primal instinct was screaming at her. _Danger_! _Danger_! She rubbed her clammy neck, wiped at the moisture stinging her eyes. This was ridiculous: the daughter of Ozai wasn't afraid of anything.

Again she tried to take a step. Again she failed. Azula realized that her teeth were chattering.

Maybe it would be best to search in the other direction.

She turned around…to a hallway that was no longer empty. It was one of the Lady Killers. Normally he looked mild and non-descript – most of them did. Now his face was contorted with rage.

"Whore," he hissed. "Filthy slut. I'm going to give you what you deserve."

Without a moment's hesitation, she charged straight at him.

She saw his surprise: his victims were supposed to run away in fear, not attack. Then she was sweeping him off his feet. Then he was sprawling face-down on the ground.

Azula crouched above him, took his head between her strong hands. Twisted.

There was a small _snap_. Suddenly his chest was pressed flat against the floor, but his un-seeing eyes were gazing up at the ceiling.

Her stomach lurched at the unnatural sight. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they hadn't attracted the attention of the crying man. But the sobbing continued, just out of view.

Azula rose and sprinted down the hall. After a few seconds, she bumped up against a wall and vomited. She leaned there for several minutes, breathing heavily. When she tried to clean away the tears and snot, she discovered that her hands were shaking.

"Stupid," she muttered. "Stupid." That man was a peasant and a criminal. There was no reason to get upset over him. Or Kwan Yu.

She set off again at top speed, determined not to give it another thought. An odd and troubling thought immediately struck her.

_I was never a killer until I want to prison_.

This was no time to ponder the irony. Azula had come back to her own cell. Just five doors beyond that, she found the exit.

_Of course I went in the wrong direction_. She was disgusted. Apparently the gods just loved to laugh at her.

The passage was barely wide enough for two men standing abreast. She crept through cautiously, in case someone was waiting at the other end.

There was no person, there was blood: splashed liberally over the walls, the floor – she looked up – the ceiling. Too much blood. Someone had died here.

Azula tip-toed over the congealing liquid, hoping to avoid bloody footprints. She didn't want to leave a trail for potential stalkers.

The second ring was just like the third ring, except more crowded. Not far away, a man was wandering aimlessly. She tensed up, but he just seemed vague. She was reminded of Deaf and Dumb.

"Do you…Do you…" He furrowed his brow in concentration. Eventually he shook his head and walked off, muttering.

The next one didn't even talk. He stared straight ahead without blinking and rocked back-and-forth on his heels.

Another man was huddled against the wall, crying silently. At her approach, he looked up hopefully.

"Excuse me, but I don't know what I'm doing. Do you know what I'm supposed to do?"

Azula hesitated, then decided on the truth. "Leave. You should leave."

"Do you know how?" The quavering voice was eager.

"No," she lied. His face crumpled, and he resumed his noiseless, broken weeping. The tears trickled into the grooves and deep lines of his skin. He was probably old enough to be someone's grandfather.

For the first time in her life, Azula felt an absurd need to apologize. "I'm sorry," she added, as she edged away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Along the way, she saw the debris of battle everywhere: blood and scorch marks, bits of clothing and armor. This corridor had seen violence. But where were all the bodies?

She opened a door, and one fell on top of her.

Azula staggered under the dead weight but managed not to fall. All around her, mops and other supplies clattered to the floor. She wrestled the corpse down, then bent to inspect it.

The eyes were missing.

She closed her own eyes, feeling a little woozy. What a fate for a loyal soldier of the imperial army: defiled and shoved into a broom closet.

And it didn't explain what happened to the other bodies. Or did it? She looked back-and-forth between the closet and the body. _Someone missed this one_. On second thought, maybe there were worse fates than being shut up in a broom closet.

There was nothing more to be learned here. She walked away, stopped, considered the forlorn tangle of limbs. Apparently this was her day to be irrational. She could leave the soldier for the mysterious body snatcher, and for the atrocities he would no doubt inflict. But that would be…it would be unseemly.

Azula was nothing if not determined. Moving an armored man was hard, sweaty work. After a few minutes, however, the dead man was once again tucked away safely in his hiding place.

The next victim was still alive. And it was Doctor Soong.

Azula peered into one of the interrogation rooms. The Doctor's terrified eyes stared back. He was bound to a chair, and a gag muffled his sudden, frantic attempts to speak.

The person standing next to him had his back to Azula. When he turned around, she almost gasped. He was young – about her brother's age – and he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

A stray memory clicked. "The boy from cell five."

"And you are Princess Azula." He graced her with a smile; its charm was flawless and shattering. "Mighty and beautiful Princess! I would kneel at your feet and kiss your holy hand, if I dared."

Normally Azula would have liked that very much. _But not from him_. She couldn't tear her eyes from the thin knife in his hand.

"That's not necessary. I like to receive homage from a distance."

"Glorious _and_ humble! You are a princess in fact as well as name, gracious lady." He bent at the waist. Azula never knew that a bow could be so graceful.

"You haven't tried to leave yet? It seems like you've been busy." She looked pointedly at the Doctor. If it hadn't been for the grey hair and clothing, she might not have recognized him. The blood vessels were popping out at his forehead, neck, and temples. His skin, normally so pale, was suffused with blood and almost purple. Sweat and gore poured down his flesh in rivers, mingling with the tears, which leaked from protruding eyeballs.

"I know that my brothers have gathered in the outer ring. When the time is right, they will march to freedom and the society of men. Like moths to a flame, they are drawn to the promise of fresh prey.

"I'll join them soon. But for now, I've already found someone special right here." A joyous grin lit up his marvelous face. It was incandescent: Azula hadn't seen anything so bright since she first woke up in her cell, a lifetime ago.

The boy reached out with two slender fingers, and lightly caressed the Doctor's hair.

Soong's eyes rolled back in his head, while the small, choked, incoherent noises drew themselves out into a protracted moan. He shook his head violently, as if in denial.

"Unless-" The boy had a new thought. "Unless you're here to take him for yourself! No! No!"

The sudden screaming caught Azula off-guard. Her heart leapt up into her throat, and she covered her ears reflexively. It wasn't enough to block out the enraged shrieking.

"No! You can't have him! You have no idea what he did to me! He's mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!"

With each furious _mine_, he drove his knife hilt-deep into the Doctor's hand.

Soong jerked backwards desperately, tipping his chair over. When he hit the floor, Azula seized her chance.

"Stop! I don't want him."

The lovely lunatic stopped.

"Really, I don't want him. He's all yours."

"Oh-" He looked embarrassed. Suddenly the calm, courtly young man had returned. "Oh, dear. I beg a thousand pardons. I should not have assumed- Are you sure you wouldn't like to help?"

Her eyes were drawn irresistibly to the knife in his hand. As if on cue, he flicked off the excess blood with an elegant twist of his wrist.

"No. That's very generous of you, but I really must be going." She started to back out of the room. As she did, he decided to extend one last peace offering.

"What you seek is six doors down on the left. May the gods go with you. This was the highest honor and pleasure of my life: to have breathed the same air as you, noble Princess."

She fled. The last thing Azula saw was the Doctor, still caught fast, his limbs wriggling feebly as he struggled to free himself – like a worm on a hook, or a pinned bug.

The exit was right where the boy said it would be. Azula paused for a moment before going through.

_Well, that wasn't too bad_, she thought. So what if she was light-headed and trembling? She had made it this far unscathed, and she refused to fail now.

Agni help anyone who stood between her and the sunlight.

Azula took a deep breath, then plunged into the final ring of hell.


	20. Red Harvest II

Chapter 20 – Red Harvest II

The battle for the pass was short but brutal.

When Azula emerged into the third ring, she found two inmates guarding the door. They were leaning against the wall and chatting, but quickly recovered from their surprise. The fight began.

One was carrying a chair leg which had been sharpened to a point at the end. The other was wielding a heavy paperweight. It might have gone badly for her if they hadn't gotten into each other's way. But they did, and Azula used one man against the other.

Finally there was only one enemy left. Azula swung her newly-acquired paperweight and took him in the side of the head. She heard a wet _crunch_ as bones caved and shattered beneath the heavy blow, then he dropped like a felled tree.

The last man standing gazed down at her motionless opponents. _Sentries_, she mused. Clearly the prisoners had organized themselves, since someone had ordered these two to guard the entrance. But who?

She thought she already knew. For right now, though, speculation was useless. She had other problems to worry about. Azula looked at the inmates again.

One had a long splinter of wood jutting out of his neck – an improvised dagger taken from his own shattered weapon. His life blood had already poured out. Her more recent victim, on the other hand…His chest was still rising and falling.

His wound was desperate. He might not ever wake up. If he did, there was a good chance that he would never be the same again. Maybe he wouldn't remember this. Wouldn't remember her.

Might. If. Maybe.

But if he did come to, and he did remember, then he would tell the others prisoners about her. She knew them. They would chase her down like a pack of dogs after wounded prey. With a commander to organize them, they might catch her too.

_I probably don't need to kill him. It's probably not necessary_.

Probably.

_But if he does wake up_…

Might. If. Maybe.

_He's a killer_, she reasoned. _He deserves it, and I would be serving my people. He would never hurt any of them again_.

Her solitary confinement had left its mark, however. She had spent many long, lonely hours with nothing for company but her own thoughts. At some point in her mental wanderings, she learned to recognize when she was just rationalizing. She learned too that _rationalizing_ could be the same as _lying_.

When she fought in the war, she fought for her country. But she also fought for herself and her own glory. Defeating her enemies in open battle was difficult and therefore impressive.

But if she killed this sleeping man, that would be easy. It would be cheap and selfish.

_This isn't really about my people. It's all about me_.

"And I choose to live." Her words were wasted on the empty corridor. The silence couldn't condemn her. Or absolve her.

Azula placed her foot on the man's throat, and slowly bore down with her entire weight.

She decided to leave the bodies where they were. There were dozens of murderers roaming these halls. She doubted that anyone would think twice about more corpses – as long as they didn't realize that the new killer in their midst was a girl.

She quickly learned that the third ring contained all the functional rooms, like offices and storage space. Not far away she discovered the kitchen. Azula crept in silently, but her caution was unnecessary. There was no one there. She immediately started to search for a knife, or anything that might prove useful.

It was obvious that others had had the same idea. The drawers and cupboards were thoroughly ransacked. Azula let her eyes wander over all the surfaces and nooks and crannies. Kitchens were full of dangerous objects. There had to be something, if only she had the wit to see it.

When she moved to the back, she immediately spotted an anomaly. _Well that's an odd place for a stool_. Working on a hunch, Azula walked over and sat on it.

It was wedged awkwardly in the far corner, between a wall and cupboard. Still sitting on the stool, Azula opened the cupboard and stuck in her arm at the most natural level. Her questing fingers found a shelf topped with jars. She reached further, pushing aside jars until she found…

What she was looking for. Azula recognized the distinctive shape of wine containers. So she was right. This was the refuge of the kitchen drunk. Every kitchen the world over seemed to have one. It was good to know that there was at least one constant in the universe.

If there was wine, then there had to be a knife to cut the seals. She couldn't find it, so she started to remove the jars. Had he carried the knife with him? But, _no_, here it was.

Azula held it in her hand and stared down at it, remembering. She had once raided another stash of booze, and held a knife just like this one…

_The two girls peeped in furtively._

"_Nope. No one here," Ty Lee whispered._

_It was about mid-night, and the palace kitchen was completely dark. The evening meal was long since finished, and the bakers wouldn't be in for a few more hours. Azula lit a small fire in her hand and moved confidently towards the special cabinet and its secret contents._

_She had recently spent an afternoon spying on the kitchen staff. In that time she had seen the bleary-eyed man come back to this corner again and again._

"_Here it is." After a few moments of rummaging, Azula had found what she was looking for. She took the knife and cut the seal on the jar._

"_We need glasses."_

_Azula didn't know where the glasses were. "No we don't. This is peasant wine, and peasants don't use glasses."_

_She looked at the wine and then at Ty Lee. Ty Lee was gazing back with shining, excited eyes._

I'm the leader_, Azula reminded herself. _Ty Lee is waiting for me to be brave_. So she immediately tipped back the jar and took a mighty swig._

_It was all she could do not to spit it out. "How is it?" Ty Lee asked. Azula silently handed her the jar, still trying not to cough and choke and sputter._

_Ty Lee wasn't so successful. After a while, she finally managed to gasp out a few words. "Eewww…I thought it would be good."_

"_It is good," Azula lied. "You're just not sophisticated enough to appreciate it." Then she took another, much smaller, sip._

_So they passed the wine back and forth through the night, two children sitting snugly knee-to-knee on the floor, feeling warm and safe in the soft darkness of the familiar kitchen._

"_You know," Ty Lee said eventually, "thish really ish…ishn't…it's not so bad after all."_

_Azula agreed. It was actually quite pleasant. So pleasant, in fact, that they opened another jar (or was it two?) and completely lost track of time._

"_What the hell are you two doing?" _

_After hours of soft whispering and quiet laughter, the deep bellow was jarring and completely unexpected. Both girls jumped._

_Azula blinked fuzzily at the grey light. Was it dawn already? Then she focused on the angry man. It was the one with blood-shot eyes and a red nose, come looking for his morning fix. She watched as comprehension slowly dawned on his dull, stupid face. It transformed into a mask of horror when he finally realized just who he had yelled at._

_Damn right! Azula tried to get to her feet and failed. Her knees gave out, dumping her back against the cabinet. She slid down onto her ass – but no matter. A princess was terrifying from any position!_

_Putting on her fiercest look, she flung out her arm and pointed at him. "Peasant! You're in the presence of your betters! If you can't mind your cut, I'll tongue it out for you."_

_Wait. That wasn't right._

_Azula turned to Ty Lee, who stared back. Then they collapsed over each other into a riotous heap of drunken giggling._

The memory was so vivid that tears sprang to her eyes.

Azula tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. _I remember that. That was nice_. It was a long, long time since she thought of anything pleasant. She had started to believe that there was nothing good in her life. Ever.

"I want to go home." The words had been unsaid throughout all her dark days in the madhouse. She hadn't even let herself think them. Hearing them now, Azula huddled into herself. Time and place ceased to matter as she fought a lonely battle against the rising despair.

"Hey!"

She looked up, half-expecting to see the drunken cook. But she was still in hell's kitchen, not the palace. The shouting man was a prisoner, and he was calling for back-up.

She threw the knife. It lodged itself in his throat and cut off his next words. Before he even hit the ground, Azula was diving for cover.

There was a large island of cupboards in the middle of the room, which obviously doubled as a giant cutting board. Azula was crouching behind it when two men walked into the room.

"Huh," one of them drawled. "Someone wasted Doctor Poison."

The other grunted. "Still here too."

Azula didn't wait for them to come searching. She threw her paperweight off to the left, where it struck the wall with a heavy _thump_. She immediately curled around to the right – which meant that, when the two men went to investigate the sound – the island stayed between her and them.

It continued to shield her from view as she slithered towards the door on her stomach. Once she was through, she stood up and silently cursed herself. She had lost the knife _and_ her paperweight. Now she was weaponless again.

Azula had barely gone ten feet when she heard someone coming. She ducked into one of the nearby rooms and peered around the door. Her choice was a lucky one: the approaching men stopped directly in front of her. Thus she heard every word of their conversation.

A tall, spare man viewed the opposite door with a frown of disapproval. He had the pinched look of a bad-tempered ascetic, and the upright carriage of a soldier. The others were ranged around him, giving the impression of an official escort.

_So I was right_, thought Azula. _Collector is the one in charge_.

The Collector had been an army colonel. When he spoke, his voice was a harsh, military bark. "Where are the men I posted? This room should be guarded."

No one had an answer for him. He snorted contemptuously. "Civilians. No discipline. No organization. Stupid."

He opened the door and gazed through. "This should be guarded…like precious stones…or a lover…" His whole demeanor had turned soft and vague. He licked his lips.

"Don't get too attached, Colonel. Remember the plan."

That snapped Collector out of his trance. "Mind your place, soldier. I don't forget. I have discipline. Control."

"Yes, Sir. When should we start bringing them up?"

Collector paused to think. "Not yet. We haven't found everything we need. Until we do, we need all our boys looking for it."

At that moment, two more men joined the scene. Collector eyed them angrily. "Well? Well? I ordered you to guard the door. Where were you?"

"We were checking out an odd noise."

"Ha! Damned raw recruits. Your job is to obey orders, not investigate."

"Well fuck me dry, _Sir_-" Azula recognized the lazy voice. This was the pair from the kitchen. "-I didn't realize that I was in your own private army. Please allow me to apologize and kiss your royal ass."

No one moved. Azula sensed that most of them were trying not to laugh. Collector must have realized how insecure his position was, because he let the matter drop. He satisfied himself with tossing off the harshest insult he could think of.

"No, this isn't the army. _You_ could never be a soldier." Having delivered this devastating blow, he swept off, and his little entourage followed.

The two guards stayed at their post. After a second, the sarcastic one said, "Hey. Did you notice those wine jars in the kitchen?"

His taciturn companion grunted. "Sure. Let's go."

When they were gone Azula crept out of her hiding place. She approached the opposite room, the one Collector had been so concerned about. Her hand hovered in front of the door: a wild idea was taking shape.

She let her hand drop. _No_. There had to be a better way. _But I'll keep it in mind, just in case_.

Once again, Azula hardly had time to take a few steps before she heard more people coming. Once again, she concealed herself in the nearest room. As she looked out the narrow crack between door and wall, she felt her frustration mounting. _There are too many people here. This is impossible_.

In her haste and distraction, she hadn't checked her surroundings. Azula learned her mistake when a meaty arm snaked around her waist from behind.

A plump hand immediately clamped down over her mouth. Azula was hauled backwards with her feet lifted off the ground, so she couldn't get any leverage. She squirmed and kicked anyway, but her assailant didn't seem to feel it, and her arms were pinned. She was trapped.

He was breathing heavily into her ear and muttering things. His voice was slow and thick and strange.

"It should stop wiggling. It should play nice. Dollies need stuffing. Play. Play…"

Azula was thrown down on to a desk. She hit hard enough to see stars, but couldn't take the time to notice. He was still holding her arms, so she gathered her core and snapped her entire torso forward. Her forehead slammed into his nose with a wet _crunch_. He staggered backwards, keening like a wounded animal.

He wasn't beaten, though. They careened back and forth, bounced off walls, smashed into furniture, and finally rolled all over the floor of the office. Azula hit him again and again, but the mountains of soft, naked flesh seemed to absorb the blows – like wet dough sucking at a baker's fist.

Azula couldn't' get away, she couldn't shake him off. She felt as though she were being smothered by a huge, hot, heavy sack of wobbling jelly. Her temperature spiked and her heart raced. A red rage blurred her vision and painted her brain with blood. For the next few minutes, Azula fought as viciously and desperately as any animal.

She should have stayed quite so that no one would hear them. But she gradually became aware that an incessant stream of guttural profanity was pouring from her mouth.

"You fucking bastard! Godsdamn it! Agni take you to hell!"

Finally she found her opening. Without the slightest hesitation, Azula drove her fingers deep into his right eye socket – and wiggled them around.

As he opened his mouth to scream, she jammed in a wad of stray paper. Then she stuffed and stuffed and stuffed some more. When she couldn't reach any more paper, she straddled his fat waist and clamped her hands over his mouth.

Azula held on as he bucked and thrashed beneath her. She watched as his face changed color and blood trickled from his damaged eye. She looked into his one good eye as he died.

At last he stopped moving. It was several minutes before Azula had a rational thought.

_At least this one wasn't sleeping and helpless_.

She stood up shakily and moved toward the door. Before she opened it, she took one, last, backwards look.

It was a mistake. Azula saw for the first time that he wasn't naked, as she had thought. Somewhere he had found a pair of women's underwear. Pallid flesh was bulging over and around the dainty slip of silk. The flaccid rolls, unnaturally still in death, already had a waxy look. She was reminded of a lumpy, white worm.

The gorge rose in her throat. Azula stumbled out the door into the hallway. Miraculously, there was no one around. Thank the gods for small favors.

She limped slowly down the corridor, feeling stiff and sore. It would only get worse, she knew.

When she reached her destination, Azula leaned heavily against the door for a few moments, panting as though she had just run twenty miles in her armor. Apparently the guards were still drinking in the kitchen.

Soon someone would find her and live to tell the tale. Then her secretive flight would turn into a running battle. If she actually got to the stairs, they would no doubt be guarded. Azula would have to fight uphill in a narrow passage crammed with armed men.

_I'll never make it. It's time to try the other way_.

She took a deep breath. Everyone knew what was in the Collector's collection. This wouldn't be pleasant.

The door opened beneath her hand. In the room beyond she found the missing bodies. They were stacked three deep, like pieces of wood.

Azula carefully closed the door behind her. Something about this place seemed to call for silence and wariness. She tiptoed down the aisle, noting that her feet were growing wet and cold from small puddles on the floor.

_It's not all gore. Someone doused these bodies with water_. She found a smallish corpse and knelt down beside it.

_This isn't about the Collector at all. These are supposed to serve a purpose_. As Azula began to strip the dead prisoner, she considered what the inmates' plans might be.

_They're making a human firewall_. It had happened before, over the course of their nation's tumultuous and violent history. Firebending was a powerful offensive force, but provided little in the way of defense. Dark times had often inspired extremes – of both ingenuity and desperation.

Azula couldn't get the shirt off, so she placed an arm over her knee and broke it. There was a sharp _crack_, and suddenly the cold, dead flesh was bent at an impossible angle.

Just as suddenly, Azula's own limbs went weak. She sank to one knee but managed to catch herself there. For some indeterminable time she stayed in that position, fighting the wooziness and light-headedness.

_I can't pass out now_. _I can't_. When she started to feel better, Azula cursed her stupidity. What was her problem? She was tired and bruised but mostly whole. And it's not like there was anything here to be upset about.

Just because she was surrounded by blood. And death. And that smell…

She pitched forward, retching, but nothing came up. She was too hungry and empty.

Eventually Azula returned to her task. Before she put on the dead man's clothing, she tore her old garment into strips and used them to bind her breasts.

As she pulled up her sensible and concealing new pants, she reflected on how skimpy her own outfit was. _Kwan Yu must have picked it out_. _Pervert_.

Finally she stood fully clothed, but sodden and shivering. Her shirt and pants clung to her damply, and some of the moisture wasn't water. The man hadn't died peacefully.

She lay down on the floor. After a moment's consideration, she pulled the stripped corpse on top of her: all the other bodies were piled on top of each other and she needed some camouflage.

Azula arranged her limbs in a suitably awkward and careless position, then turned her head to the side so she wouldn't have to look into the dead man's face.

Instead she found herself looking into another dead man's face. Her neighbor's eyes were wide open and staring straight at her.

She closed her own eyes. It didn't help. The creeping sensation was still there. The nausea too. And she could still see the bodies as clearly as if the vision had been burned onto her pupils.

Thinking about the image, she panicked. How could anyone mistake a living person for a corpse? For a time Azula worked to reassure herself. People generally saw what they expected to see. And it's not like she had a better plan. Worrying wouldn't solve anything.

Once she had calmed herself, she didn't feel any better. Now Azula had nothing to think about except her own discomfort. The wet chill seemed to be seeping into her bones. She was starting to cramp in a dozen different places, and the dead weight on her chest made it difficult to breathe. But she couldn't move, mustn't. She was a body now: cold and rigid and senseless.

Azula fought on-and-on – fought not to shiver or even twitch, or spill tears of abject misery.

"Right. You got its feet?"

Azula almost jumped out of her skin. For a few seconds she didn't even know where she was. When she remembered, she almost swore. By the ancestors! She had _fallen asleep_.

Apparently – amazingly – she hadn't moved or made a sound. She listened as the men continued to talk and go about their work.

They were finally shifting the bodies. Her turn came, and she didn't have to feign stiffness. She didn't know if she could have moved even if she wanted to.

Azula was placed on what seemed to be a stretcher. Welcome words followed.

"This one's small. Put on another one."

Once again, a corpse weight pressed along her length. But Azula didn't mind: it would hide the rising and falling of her chest.

The stretcher was lifted. They were off. Twice her dangling limbs banged up against a wall or door. Azula managed not to react.

All the while, she prepared herself for action. She willed her heart to race, her senses to expand, and her cold muscles to pliancy. This would be touch-and-go.

When the stretcher tilted, Azula stifled a wild surge of laughter. They were going up the stairs!

They must have reached their destination. The stretcher was lowered to the floor and the body lifted off. Someone took her by the ankles, another by the wrists. The two men swung her a couple of times for momentum, then tossed her aside. Azula couldn't quite resist the impulse to tuck and roll.

"Wait!" Damn. She had been spotted. Azula wasn't surprised.

She felt, rather than saw, someone bending over her. When the voice came again, it was close.

"I think this one is-"

Even as she opened her eyes, Azula was reaching out. She pulled the man down and clamped her teeth around his nose.

A powerful kick to his diaphragm cut off his scream and knocked him backwards. He was too shocked to resist. The rest didn't even have time to react before she was on her feet and out of the room.

Real light! If she hadn't been is such a hurry, she would have stopped and marveled. Instead of a lurid crystalline gleam, she saw the warm, living glow of many small fires. This hallway was lined with lanterns. That, and a dozen other homely details, made it infinitely more gracious than its subterranean counterpart.

A shout went up. As she ran, Azula listened carefully to the raised voices. They had recognized her.

The noise seemed to follow her. Some primal instinct warned her that her enemies were massing on all sides. She could feel the swelling force of their ill intent, pressing on her from somewhere just out of sight.

One of them finally caught up. He emerged from a side door and placed himself directly in her path.

Azula never slowed. She did alter her course slightly, so she could take a running jump and plant her foot on the wall. From there she pushed off and flipped neatly over the man's head.

She had escaped him; she hadn't silenced him. Azula kept on running, but she heard him yell behind her. Now they knew exactly where she was.

A group must have formed around him, because she soon realized that there was a pack on her tail, and getting closer.

Suddenly the corridor ended with a door. Azula passed through, only to stop in horror. She must have reached the very center of the building, because the space beyond didn't have any other windows or doors. She couldn't go forward, and she couldn't go back.

This appeared to be an infirmary. Azula looked around wildly, trying to find something that would get her out of this.

When they reached the open door they stopped. Apparently they were having a conference, because she heard soft voices. Someone giggled. Then they filed through, one-by-one.

They slipped into the room, quietly, every single one a predator, muscles coiled and eyes searching, searching… The air changed with their coming. It grew rank with the animal musk of sex and violence.

They fanned out into the shadowy recesses of the dim room. Finally a low whistle broke the silence.

"Come out, come out, little one. We won't hurt you."

Another burst of giggling, from a different man. The one who had spoken stopped in front of a covered table.

"Are you here?" He grabbed the table and upended it. It crashed to the floor with a nerve-wracking clatter. He stared down at the empty space where it had been. "No? Don't worry. I'll find you."

The rest of them joined the game.

"Come out, come out."

"Come play with us."

"Don't be scared."

Azula waited until they were all well into the room, with their backs to the entrance. Then she swung herself down: she had been perched lightly on top of the thick, metal door.

One of them happened to turn around just as she was leaving. Azula flashed a bright smile at his stunned face, then she closed the door on all of them. As soon as she heard the mechanism catch, she stuck the slender blade of a scalpel into the lock. A strong twist of her wrist broke off the handle.

Azula listened with satisfaction as she heard the banging commence on the other side of the door. "Find a way out of _that_, you dumb bastards."

But this was no time to celebrate. There were other evil men, and other battles to fight. For the next hour, Azula put all her famous skill and cunning to use. She dodged reaching arms, broke others, crawled through tight spaces, set traps, created diversions, doubled back, sprinted forward, and found a dozen, ingenious hiding places.

One of them was already occupied. The girl had her eyes screwed shut and her arms wrapped tight around her knees. She was almost naked except for a few shredded rags.

Azula's stomach turned upside down. "Oh. I didn't know anyone was here."

The girl didn't respond, just continued her steady, noiseless rocking.

She backed out, leaving the sad, hunched figure to its fate. Azula never saw the girl again.

The chase continued. Despite the difficulties, she managed to move for the most part in one direction. If she could just reach an outer wall, she would find some sort of exist.

At some point she began to suspect that she was being herded. The suspicion turned into certainty she finally reached her goal. There was a window directly ahead of her. There was also a group of men blocking her path. Another group immediately appeared behind her, at the other end of the corridor.

Caught between a hammer and an anvil, Azula made the only possible choice. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she dove headfirst into a nearby laundry chute. On the way down, she prayed to the gods. She prayed that this wouldn't dump her back into one of the lower rings.

By spreading out her arms and legs, she managed to slow herself and finally slide to a silent halt at the very bottom. She didn't want to fall into a completely unfamiliar situation. The spirits only knew what would be waiting for her.

Unfortunately she could barely see a thing except for a nearby wall. Apparently the chute was in the corner. Azula couldn't even move her head to get a better angle. Her hold was so precarious, that if she so much as twitched she would tumble out onto the floor.

She could tell that the light was coming from lanterns, not crystals. That was comforting. And there were men nearby. From their conversation, it sounded like they were playing cards.

A few seconds later a new voice came, sharp and peremptory. It cut through the other voices, halting them instantly.

"You. Where is she?"

"Where's who?" With a slight start, Azula realized that she knew this voice.

"Don't play stupid. How many _she_'s are there in this god-forsaken pit? And she must be here. Give it up. You can't have her all for yourself."

"Can't give up what I don't got."

"She's still in the laundry chute, then. Where is it? We'll pull her out."

"Naw. You ain't going nowhere but back where you came from. Collector told us to watch this door. No one in or out – and that means you. So shove off."

"Don't be a fool. I'm not trying to go outside. I've worked hard for some fun time. We all have, and we're not leaving without it."

Azula recognized the engineer of her entrapment. She wasn't surprised that this man had been giving the orders. His voice had the unmistakable ring of intelligence, and the clean, precise diction of the educated elite. And Academy boy, probably. In another time and place, when Azula thought that such things were everything, she would have said that this person had _a touch of quality_.

His next words shattered her crumbling illusions forever. After a tense silence, he continued, "There's a luscious piece of ass in that chute just begging for a pounding. If we go, you're going to have her all for yourself. Well, I won't have it. I'm going to drag the bitch out myself, and you'll have to get in line like everyone else."

"The boss told me to guard this room. That means the chute too. I'll check it out." This voice had grown quiet and steely. The masterful young interloper didn't know it yet, but he was tempting fate.

Someone approached with slow, measured steps. Finally an arm with familiar tattoos crossed into her line of vision, followed by a familiar face.

For a long second, she and Lady Maker stared straight into each other's eyes.

Before she could even guess what he was thinking, his gaze flickered away. He leaned forward, looked up, down, to the side – as if he were making a leisurely inspection.

He walked away. "Ain't no one there. Like I said, shove off."

The other man was enraged. "Of course she's there: I didn't give her anywhere else to go. Move aside. She's coming out."

"You calling me a liar?"

"Obviously. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you don't understand. You clearly can't count. If you could, you would realize that you're outnumbered."

"You ever been in a gang, boy?"

"Spirits, no. But you have? I thought I smelled a filthy, no account dog."

"Funny thing about dogs. They always follow the strongest."

Suddenly there was a wet sound, awful in its implications. A strangled scream, cut off by more sucking, popping, grinding noises. Then nothing.

After a long pause, someone finally spoke up. "So there was nothing in the chute?" He rushed on nervously. "Of course not. I just…I just wonder where she went to."

"There's another laundry room nearby. Maybe the chute went to that one. You all wanna check it out?" Lady Maker's tone was perfectly calm, even gentle.

"Sure. Sure we do. Should we leave someone here to watch the door?"

"Naw. It'll be fine for a few minutes. Let's _all_ go."

The subtle threat worked. Within a few moments, Azula head the absolute silence of an empty room. She finally let herself drop, all the while wondering about what she had just seen. Azula always made it a point to understand human actions and motivations, to map and explain and classify them. But what happened just now – she wasn't sure whether she had witnessed a power play or an act of mercy.

A second later, a more important concern drove every other thought from her mind.

She saw the door, the door that Collector was so anxious to have guarded. It was open – probably so that the sentries could enjoy the pleasant summer breeze.

The facility must have been built on a slight incline, because this basement had an exit.

Azula walked through, fighting a strange sense of unreality the whole way. On the other side, she felt grass beneath her feet and moisture on the air. She smelled living things and the damp, loamy earth. She heard the soft stirrings and chirpings of small, nocturnal creatures. She was enveloped by the warm and velvety darkness of a balmy night.

Lying bereft in her sterile, metal box, Azula had tried again and again to conjure such details, to recall the fabric and feel of the outer world. She failed over and over again, started to think that she had forgotten these things, or that they never existed to begin with.

Now it all came crashing back: the ways and wherefores and sensations of _Life_ under Agni's great sky. The vibrancy and exuberance of this whole world, which was the natural home of the human animal – and which had been denied to her for so long.

She even remembered that slight charge in the air, and the hushed expectancy that lay over the entire land. She remembered what it meant, and she was pleased. _There's a storm coming_.

Although it was a dark night, the light spilling from the windows was more than enough for Azula, whose eyes were so accustomed to absolute blackness. She could see the trees and flower beds ahead. This was a garden.

She walked over the grass slowly at first, then faster and faster, until she was sprinting across the lawn and doing flips for sheer joy. So she ranged her solitary way through the lush summer growth, searching for its end but also marveling at the still, nighttime beauty of it.

For the first time Azula understood the true extent of her captors' crimes and perversion. By cutting her off from everything good and right, they had tried to steal her very humanity.

_Because a human_, thought Azula, who was gently stroking a flower, _can write a love sonnet to one perfect petal on one perfect daisy blooming on a perfect spring day. A human can sing a paean to the stars, or paint the miracle that is the tiny, burrowing mouse_.

A human could appreciate beauty. But if you put them someplace dead and ugly, the wonder was gone. Only cold, hard need and necessity were left, and that was the lot of dumb beasts.

Like a man dying from thirst, Azula was drinking up the novel sensory input. And quickly growing drunk. Her body didn't feel battered at all, but light and restless and ready for anything. She was aware that she was becoming more and more excited – and increasingly reckless.

That feeling only increased when she found a garden shed. It was locked, but no matter. Azula would get in somehow. It was bound to have something dangerous in it.

First Azula bent down and drank greedily from a nearby spigot. Then she picked up the bucket sitting beneath it, and approached the shed.

She swung the bucket fast and hard, boldly smashing a hole in the window. Let them hear. If someone wanted to tangle with her, she was game.

Azula reached through the hole and unlocked the window. Then she pushed it up and slithered through. Inside she crept cautiously through the dark, cluttered space, looking for…

_This_. After considering and discarding several items, Azula found her weapon.

_How do we feel about this one_?

She gasped and blinked, thinking for one, terrible moment that _He_ was in the room with her.

_The words were flirtatious, and so was the slight smile, but his eyes were serious and appraising. Kwan Yu tapped the crowbar against his palm as he silently assessed her strength_.

Azula actually rocked forward, thinking that the first blow was falling. The ghost of old pain stung the back of her thighs.

_Not real_. _Not real_. Kwan Yu was dead and gone, and so was the past. It couldn't hurt her anymore.

Azula considered the crowbar in her own hands, felt its heaviness and solidity. She would say this for him: Kwan Yu was a man who knew the value of preparation. He understood that any undertaking needed the proper equipment.

She swung the length of metal; a line of canisters disintegrated into a thousand flying shards. She spun around; a dent appeared in a large, metal bin. With pin-point accuracy she clipped the top of a potted plant – and took its fucking head right off.

Not five minutes later, she was staring at the gate.

The entrance of the compound looked just like that of any military installation. The metal wall wasn't very thick, so it had been extended around the opening to create a sort of artificial tunnel. Anyone forcing their way in (or out) would have to pass through a long, narrow bottleneck.

Each side was flanked by a tower. No doubt there were people up there waiting to blast anyone who came near.

_If I run along the wall, they'll never see me until it's too late_.

She hadn't found any other exits. The walls were tall and smooth and unscalable, without any convenient trees or buildings planted nearby. As far as she could tell, this was the only way out.

There were no plants near the gate, or anything that might obstruct the guards' vision. This area was extremely well-lit, no doubt so they could see the enemy coming.

What was it Lady Killer had said? "The guards have gathered at the gate"? Of course they had. They were soldiers of the Fire Nation: they would never abandon their post. They had simply fallen back to the most defensible position, and there they would make their stand. The prisoners would only escape over the guards' dead bodies.

Azula knew how it would be. She could practically see it. They would be massed in the tunnel, blocking it with their bodies. The inmates would try to press them back through sheer weight of numbers. And the soldiers would give ground – but they would do it step-by-bloody-step, in perfect control, exacting two lives for every yielded inch.

They had plenty of time to prepare. They had probably rigged traps in the tunnel. Once they backed all the way out, they would stand back and hurl fire as their weary and depleted foe tried to pour out the narrow exit.

The soldiers knew their business. They had every advantage in position, training, discipline, and equipment. It didn't matter how competent Collector was, or how clever his plan. The inmates were doomed.

_Sometimes one can succeed where many fail_.

Where did that leave her? She couldn't rely on the prisoners to open the way for her. And the guards had no doubt sent for help. Reinforcements would probably arrive soon. Then everything would be so much worse.

She didn't even know whether the gate was still open or whether they had managed to lock it again. How long was the tunnel? How many soldiers were packed in there?

_You'll never know until you go in_.

Were they armed with anything besides firebending?

_Probably not. They were afraid that the prisoners would get their hands on any weapons_.

But they could just blast her as she came at them.

_Not if you're between them before they know what's happening. At close quarters they won't risk burning each other_.

She was a teenage girl, small and skinny and weak. She wasn't even wearing shoes, much less armor. How could she possibly push her way through all those military men? Hadn't she hidden in a pile of corpses in order to avoid just this type of situation?

_You didn't have the crowbar then_.

Azula stroked the long, hard length of her new weapon. Despite her athleticism, she had always been a creature of the mind, not the flesh. So she had never understood Ty Lee's preoccupation with the more sensual pursuits. Right now, though, she felt positively _sexual_.

The elation hadn't died yet. Her body was still humming and throbbing to the rhythmic pulse of suppressed energy. She felt the strong convulsions of her heart, and she would have sworn that she could feel her blood surging with every beat. She was aware of all her parts and pieces down to the last, aroused particle. Azula had never been so conscious of her own flesh before.

She knew that her limbs were currently slick from the damp air and the occasional, fat raindrop. She gazed down at her shimmering forearm and flexed it, admiring the way her muscles moved beneath the skin. Had she said she was weak? Azula didn't believe it.

Her tongue flicked out and tasted the moisture on her lips. That could be the blood of her enemies. Those so-called soldiers had _dared_ to manhandle their princess, when they should never have lifted their eyes to her. They had stood by and watched while she was violated. Now she could violate them.

_You know you're going to do it. Just get it over with_.

But the shreds of her sanity refused to be silenced. It told her that, if she went in there, she would die.

_You're a magnificent bastard, descended from the most magnificent bastards in the history of the world. You owe it to your dignity to die in a suitably flamboyant manner_.

_Good point_. Still, she hesitated.

Then the lightning came and sealed her fate.

It rent the heavens, a glorious spear of electric power and light. A second later it sounded its battle theme with a thunderous drum roll. The sound reverberated in her chest, and the scent of ozone filled her senses. Oh heady remembrance! Oh marvelous old friend, so hot and dangerous!

Lord Agni was showing his might. How could she refuse to follow? Azula began to run through the quickening rain, hugging the wall and trailing her weapon behind her.

The Fire God sent her one last sign – though she didn't know whether it was a benediction or a curse. Lighting flashed and thunder cracked just as she whipped around the corner of the entrance, tight and low. Azula neatly sidestepped the man standing watch beside the opening. Many of the others were sitting, she saw. Thus she advanced several paces before any of them could offer resistance.

When the first one stepped in front of her, she swung her crowbar straight at his face. That stopped him dead and even knocked him backwards. Azula stepped over his felled body.

She lunged beneath the reaching arms of the next one, and completely destroyed his knee with one strong blow.

So it went. They ran together from all sides and formed a surging mass of overwhelming force, until it seemed to Azula that she was the tiny ship, cleaving its dogged way through the hostile sea. The storm battered at her, inflicted untold amounts of damage. But repairs could wait for the calm. Now she sailed on: unfeeling and unflinching.

Nothing mattered except the push and pull of opposing weights. She mustn't give or falter. She mustn't go back. She must go forward, always forward. Whether a hair's breadth, a hand's breadth, or even a whole step – every move, every choice, every breath had to take her inexorably towards her goal.

It went on-and-on. Azula fought unceasingly, without any hope of relief, without knowing when it would end. The illusion of invincibility began to fail along with the adrenalin. At some point she was aware that bruises were blossoming all over her body. She realized that her breath was coming in great, erratic gasps. She noticed that her movements – normally so fluid – were becoming increasingly ragged. She felt the hurt spreading, and the fire in her muscles burning. Strange lights and colors spotted her vision – when it didn't black out completely.

What endurance lacked, will provided. Azula refused to fall, not now. Let _them_ know defeat. Let _them_ lick the ground and taste the bitter dirt.

_Because!_

_They! _

_Could_!

_Not_!

_Keep_!

_Her_!

_Back_!

Another step, another enemy. She roared her battle cry to his face. Azula was too far gone to realize that she had lifted him clear off the ground. She couldn't appreciate her own impossible strength as she _threw_ him aside. For a moment, she didn't even recognize what she saw beyond.

It was the night. Her way was clear.

She was through the door! She made it two more steps, then-

Azula couldn't know that one of the soldiers had made one, last, desperate bid to detain her. She didn't feel him catch her heel, the one part of her body still within the diving man's reach. She fell so hard and fast, that at first she didn't know why she wasn't moving, or why her face had exploded with pain. She was still confused when the other soldiers fell upon her.

Even when they wrenched the crowbar from her hand, her feverish, disordered brain couldn't grasp the facts. Nothing made sense. She didn't understand. All she knew was that she had to fight.

A sharp crack to the back of her head finally put an end to her insane struggling. Azula immediately threw up down the front of her shirt (Wait. Was she standing?), all bile – bitter stuff – followed by great, dry, wracking heaves.

Someone was talking to her. She tried to focus, but instead her eyes rolled up of their own accord. Azula suddenly lost a moment. The next thing she knew, her legs were limp beneath her, and she was sagging from the strong hands clamped around her arms. She couldn't get enough air. For a long time, Azula wasn't aware of anything but the next rise of her chest, the next shuddering, sobbing breath.

Finally her mind and body stilled. Steeling herself, she looked up.

She was against a wall. They were crowded around, boring into her with hard stares. They all had the grim, wooden look of embattled, but determined, men. They were also scared.

The one right in front of her wore the skeletal mask of command. For an awful second she thought it was Kwan Yu. Only for a second, though. This man was tall, but still far too small for Kwan Yu.

He reached up and removed the mask. Azula gasped. "_Innocent_?"

He smiled in the way she had seen him smile dozens of times – with a bitter twist of the lips that never reached his eyes. "It's _Shin_, actually."

"But how-"

Innocent – Shin – tapped the side of his head. "Perfect recall. As soon as the Doctor found out, he had me eating with his favorite patients. Then I would write down everything that was said."

"Oh my god. _Everything_? That wasn't for them to hear!"

"I know. And I'm sorry."

Azula was still reeling from the shock. How had he fooled her so completely? "Then your story was a lie? You were so convincing."

"Can you believe it? The story was true. Only it happened to my cousin, not to me. He and I were like brothers.

"He wrote me a letter before he was hanged. But I was on duty, and he died alone. As soon as I could I went to that town and started poking around. Turns out the real criminal was the judge, his lordship, the local noble playing god to his little flock of peasants.

"I killed him and hid the body. They never found it, so they couldn't charge me. But everyone knew. They gave me this post as a punishment. But I didn't mind. Why should I? I was helping to guard and punish _his_ kind, the kind that killed Eri and Azumi and the brother of my heart.

"Then you came." He breathed out softly. "What am I going to do with you?"

A twitchy-looking man spoke up. "Kill her. Kill her now. She's one of _them_."

"At ease, Haruki." Shin flashed another bitter mockery of a smile. "Haruki's brother died in there. Horribly. A lot of people did. We managed to evacuate most of the patients on the upper level, but not all of them."

Azula thought of the silent, rocking girl.

He went on, "The spirits like to play cruel jokes. I don't know how you got a hold of that sword. I don't want to know. And I don't know what your deal was with Lady Killer. But if you had waited three more days, this tragedy wouldn't have happened. Haruki's brother would still be alive. The prisoners would be in their cells. You would be free. You and I could be friends."

"What was going to happen in three days?"

"I was going to break you out, secretly and quietly, with no one the wiser until it was too late."

"You…you were?"

"I was. I was ashamed, you see. I thought I was so much better than you, better than all the twisted creatures trapped in that basement hell. You were all getting what you deserved – or that's what I believed. Then you told your story.

"I finally looked at your file. And, oh my god, you were telling the truth. You hadn't done anything. _Anything_. And I never wondered, I never checked. I helped them torture a young girl – without any remorse, without a second thought.

"You were the only _Innocent_ in that place. And all the while I was preening myself on my superiority. I was wallowing in my arrogance.

"I was nothing but a fool, and a cruel one at that. I kept my mouth shut, and I followed my orders without question. That's what a good soldier is supposed to do, isn't it? But see where it got me. There's blood on my hands, and it won't ever wash off."

A look of perfect understanding passed between them.

"I'm letting you go," he whispered. Shin glanced over his shoulder and said more loudly, "We're letting her go."

"But, Sir-"

"I'm the ranking officer now: it's on _my_ head. If anyone ever finds out, you tell them that I gave the order."

A grizzled-looking veteran chipped in. "I fully support your decision, Sir." He turned his attention to Azula. "Princess, I remember your services to our country. As far as I'm concerned, you're a hero. It was an honor to do battle with you. Your reputation doesn't do you justice."

He snapped off a salute. _That's just great_, thought Azula. Where was all this support when she needed it?

"Just get her out. Get her out now." There was the twitchy one again.

"Sir, couldn't you have decided this _before_ she beat us up?" This one flashed her a cheeky grin, full of swollen lip and newly-missing teeth.

Shin took her chin in his hand and stared at her intently. "Listen to me. I don't know if I'm doing the world a favor. You've got a darkness in you, a mile wide and a mile deep. And you have more power to inflict harm than all those serial killers put together.

"But you've been here for nearly eight months. That was a heavy price to pay for crimes that haven't been committed yet. I won't have any part in punishing you further. Back when I told you my cousin's story, you cried for him. You cried for his family. I've never forgotten that.

"I know you're capable of pity. Whenever you make a choice in the future, remember this: it was pity that won your life today."

He nodded to the men holding her. They let go, and the rest of the group parted. Shin grabbed her arm and half-led, half-dragged her towards the exit.

He pushed her outside. It was pouring.

Shin stood silhouetted in the gateway, and bestowed one last kindness. He removed a small pouch from his belt and tossed it to her. As she caught it, she heard the jingle of coins.

"Run fast and run far, Princess. They're almost here, and they'll be hard on your heels."

He disappeared. Azula slowly turned around. A bolt of lightning illuminated the road in front of her. It vanished into a dark wood.

For a second she flung her head back towards the heavens, standing on tiptoe with her arms raised and fingers outstretched. Then Azula took a deep breath, and forged ahead into freedom and the unknown future.

* * *

**Yay! At last, at last! I never imagined that this would take me so long. I want to thank everybody for reading and reviewing and occasionally e-mailing – especially those who have stuck with this story since the beginning, well over a year ago. **

**I actually have rough plans for an entire story arc. Given the length of time it took me to write this installment, I'm not sure that I'll be able to do the whole thing before people lose interest. I guess we'll have to see how it goes.**

**I would like to write at least one sequel. It has to be outlined, and I have a lot of work to do before the end of the school year. So the first chapter might not be forthcoming until May or June.**

**Thanks again, and all the best. Hopefully we can share more Azula-love in the near future – I'm going to try hard.**

**-Ciceronis**


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